A KNOCK is at her door, but she is weak; Strange dews have washed the paint streaks from her cheek; She does not rise, but, ah, this friend is known, And knows that he will find her all alone. So opens he the door, and with soft tread Goes straightway to the richly curtained bed. His soft hand on her dewy head he lays. A strange white light she gives him for his gaze. Then, looking on the glory of her charms, He crushes her resistless in his arms. Stand back! look not upon this bold embrace, Nor view the calmness of the wanton's face; With joy unspeakable and 'bated breath, She keeps her last, long liaison with death! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LET ME NOT HATE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE LAMP OF LIFE by AMY LOWELL SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ADAM WEIRAUCH by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE GOLDEN NET by WILLIAM BLAKE SATIRE: 3. TO SIR FRANCIS BRIAN by THOMAS WYATT HE MOURNS FOR THE CHANGE THAT HAS COME UPON HIM AND BELOVED by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS |