How grey the world was with its memories, How dark even this gay room where the motes run! How black these curtains, thick with murder cries, These chairs, this floor with things slain in the sun! 'Twas here I strangled love, a year ago, And hid it 'neath these pillows drenched in blood, As a mad mother her sweet babe of woe, Too strong to die, too fair, which shrieks aloud. How black and bare and bitter the world was Just yesterday! To-day, this room, dear Heaven, What laughters fill it! what light footsteps pass! See, the white chairs dance round me pleasure-driven, And these sad pillows, where I wept, blab out The news that you are here, in psalm and shout! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MAGDALEN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON A SEA-SHORE GRAVE by SIDNEY LANIER A SHORT SONG OF CONGRATULATION by SAMUEL JOHNSON (1709-1784) EPISTLE TO MISS TERESA BLOUNT, ON HER LEAVING THE TOWN by ALEXANDER POPE MONNA INNOMINATA, A SONNET OF SONNETS: 13 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI TO TWO BEREAVED by THOMAS ASHE MINE THE GROUND by MILDRED BOWERS FO'C'S'LE YARNS: 2D SERIES. DEDICATION by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN |