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About this Poem 

“Six O’Clock” was published in The Poems of Trumbull Stickney (Houghton Mifflin, 1905).

Six O'Clock

Now burst above the city’s cold twilight 
The piercing whistles and the tower-clocks:
For day is done. Along the frozen docks
The workmen set their ragged shirts aright.
Thro’ factory doors a stream of dingy light
Follows the scrimmage as it quickly flocks
To hut and home among the snow’s gray blocks.—
I love you, human labourers. Good-night!
Good-night to all the blackened arms that ache!
Good-night to every sick and sweated brow,
To the poor girl that strength and love forsake,
To the poor boy who can no more! I vow
The victim soon shall shudder at the stake
And fall in blood: we bring him even now.

This poem is in the public domain. Published in Poem-a-Day on October 13, 2018, by the Academy of American Poets.

This poem is in the public domain. Published in Poem-a-Day on October 13, 2018, by the Academy of American Poets.

Trumbull Stickney

Trumbull Stickney

Trumbull Stickney published his debut poetry collection, Dramatic Verses, in 1902. 

by this poet

poem
These autumn gardens, russet, gray and brown, 
The sward with shrivelled foliage strown, 
The shrubs and trees 
By weary wings of sunshine overflown 
And timid silences,—

Since first you, darling, called my spirit yours, 
Seem happy, and the gladness pours 
From day to day, 
And yester-year across this year
poem
Live blindly and upon the hour. The Lord, 
Who was the Future, died full long ago. 
Knowledge which is the Past is folly. Go, 
Poor, child, and be not to thyself abhorred. 
Around thine earth sun-winged winds do blow 
And planets roll; a meteor draws his sword; 
The rainbow breaks his seven-coloured chord 
And
poem
These are my murmur-laden shells that keep 
A fresh voice tho' the years be very gray. 
The wave that washed their lips and tuned their lay 
Is gone, gone with the faded ocean sweep, 
The royal tide, gray ebb and sunken neap 
And purple midday,—gone! To this hot clay 
Must sing my shells, where yet the primal