Although the house which once felt your caress Is silent now, its windows sad and blind, More poignant, far, than aching emptiness Are things that you in passing left behind: The Shelley on the table by your bed... Your window flowers that are soon to bloom... An imprint, on a pillow, of your head... And Loneliness, filling every room... | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHILDE ROLAND TO THE DARK TOWER CAME' by ROBERT BROWNING A HYMN FOR CHRISTMAS DAY (2) by JOHN BYROM THE HOUSE OF HOSPITALITIES by THOMAS HARDY A SOCIETY MARTYR by JOHN CLINTON ANTHONY AUTUMN MALADE by GUILLAUME APOLLINAIRE |