DARK, thinned, beside the wall of stone, The box dripped in the air; Its odor through my house was blown Into the chamber there. Remote and yet distinct the scent, The sole thing of the kind, As though one spoke a word half meant That left a sting behind. I knew not Grief would go from me, And naught of it be plain, Except how keen the box can be After a fall of rain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MEZZO CAMMIN by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW TO THE UNKNOWN EROS: BOOK 2: 3. ARBOR VITAE by COVENTRY KERSEY DIGHTON PATMORE THE HOLLY TREE by ROBERT SOUTHEY SONNET TO THE MOON by HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS THE WELCOME by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THAT DAY by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING CROMWELL'S REFLECTIONS ON 'KILLING NO MURDER' by EDWARD GEORGE EARLE LYTTON BULWER-LYTTON ADDRESS TO THE WOODLARK by ROBERT BURNS LINES ON HEARING THAT LADY BYRON WAS ILL by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |