The night proceeds and dwindling <br />Prepares the day's rebirth. <br />An airman is ascending <br />Above the sleeping earth. <br /> <br />And almost disappearing <br />In cloud, a tiny spark, <br />He now is like a cross-stitch, <br />A midget laundry-mark. <br /> <br />Beneath him are strange cities, <br />And heavy traffic-lanes, <br />And night-clubs, barracks, stokers, <br />And railways, stations, trains. <br /> <br />The shadow of his wing-span <br />Falls heavy on the cloud. <br />Celestial bodies wander <br />Around him in a crowd. <br /> <br />And there, with frightful listing <br />Through emptiness, away <br />Through unknown solar systems <br />Revolves the Milky Way. <br /> <br />In limitless expanses <br />Are headlands burning bright. <br />In basements and in cellars <br />The stokers work all night. <br /> <br />And underneath a rooftop <br />In Paris, maybe Mars <br />Or Venus sees a notice <br />About a recent farce. <br /> <br />And maybe in an attic <br />And under ancient slates <br />A man sits wakeful, working, <br />He thinks and broods and waits; <br /> <br />He looks upon the planet, <br />As if the heavenly spheres <br />Were part of his entrusted <br />Nocturnal private cares. <br /> <br />Fight off your sleep: be wakeful, <br />Work on, keep up your pace, <br />Keep vigil like the pilot, <br />Like all the stars in space. <br /> <br />Work on, work on, creator- <br />To sleep would be a crime- <br />Eternity's own hostage, <br />And prisoner of Time.<br /><br />Boris Pasternak<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/night-157/
