Nuit Blanche by Edna St. Vincent Millay — Read

I am a shepherd of those sheep / That climb a wall by night,

One after one, until I sleep, / Or the black pane goes white.

Because of which I cannot see / A flock upon a hill,

But doubts come tittering up to me / That should by day be still.

And childish griefs I have outgrown / Into my eyes are thrust,

Till my dull tears go dropping down / Like lead into the dust.