The clump of jessamine Softly beneath the rain Rocks its golden flowers. In this room my father died: His bed is in the corner. No one has slept in it Since the morning when he wakened To meet death's hands at his heart. I cannot go to this room, Without feeling something big and angry Waiting for me To throw me on the bed, And press its thumbs in my throat. The clump of jessamine Without, beneath the rain, Rocks its golden flowers. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A FANCY FROM FONTENELLE by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON DEFIANT OF DEATH by EVA K. ANGLESBURG LINES ON THE COTTAGE AT THE FOOT OF BOX HILL, SURREY by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD PSALM 42 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE AN OLD SAW NEWLY RENDERED by LEVI BISHOP MONTGOMERIE'S PEGGY by ROBERT BURNS TO THE MOST PRINCELY AND VERTUOUS THE LADY ELIZABETH by THOMAS CAMPION |