In the naked bed, in Plato’s cave, by Delmore Schwartz

In the naked bed, in Plato’s cave,

In the naked bed, in Plato’s cave,

Reflected headlights slowly slid the wall,   

Carpenters hammered under the shaded window,   

Wind troubled the window curtains all night long,   

A fleet of trucks strained uphill, grinding,   

Their freights covered, as usual.

The ceiling lightened again, the slanting diagram   

Slid slowly forth.

                            Hearing the milkman’s chop,   

His striving up the stair, the bottle’s chink,   

I rose from bed, lit a cigarette,

And walked to the window. The stony street   

Displayed the stillness in which buildings stand,   

The street-lamp’s vigil and the horse’s patience.   

The winter sky’s pure capital

Turned me back to bed with exhausted eyes.

Strangeness grew in the motionless air. The loose   

Film grayed. Shaking wagons, hooves’ waterfalls,   

Sounded far off, increasing, louder and nearer.   

A car coughed, starting. Morning, softly   

Melting the air, lifted the half-covered chair   

From underseas, kindled the looking-glass,   

Distinguished the dresser and the white wall.   

The bird called tentatively, whistled, called,   

Bubbled and whistled, so! Perplexed, still wet   

With sleep, affectionate, hungry and cold. So, so,   

O son of man, the ignorant night, the travail   

Of early morning, the mystery of beginning   

Again and again,

                         while History is unforgiven.