A line a night

Robert Frost, Acquainted with the Night (1928).

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.

The line I kept:

One luminary clock against the sky
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.

Everything else in this poem refuses to answer. The cry over the houses does not call him back. The watchman gets no explanation. Only the clock says anything, and all it says is the time. Not whether the hour is good or bad. Neither wrong nor right.

A month of no orders likes to turn into a verdict if I let it. The clock will not give me one. It marks the hour and goes on marking it. So I keep the read, keep the light on, and let the hour be only the hour.

Thirty-five nights now.