(December 1899) I SHE sits in the tawny vapour That the Thames-side lanes have uprolled, Behind whose webby fold on fold Like a waning taper The street-lamp glimmers cold. A messenger's knock cracks smartly, Flashed news is in her hand Of meaning it dazes to understand Though shaped so shortly: He - has fallen - in the far South Land.... II 'Tis the morrow; the fog hangs thicker, The postman nears and goes: A letter is brought whose lines disclose By the firelight flicker His hand, whom the worm now knows: Fresh - firm - penned in highest feather - Page-full of his hoped return, And of home-planned jaunts by brake and burn In the summer weather, And of new love that they would learn. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LAND OF DREAMS by WILLIAM BLAKE PRAISE FOR AN URN; IN MEMORIAM: ERNEST NELSON by HAROLD HART CRANE NOVEMBER BLUE by ALICE MEYNELL ENGLAND AND AMERICA: 1. ON A RHINE STEAMER by JAMES KENNETH STEPHEN BETWEEN WAND AND WELT by MARGARET AHO |