WE sat with the banqueting-party By the table-end -- Unmarked, -- no diners out Were we: scarce a friend Of our own mind's trend Was there, though the welcome was hearty. Then we noticed a shade extend By a distant screen, And I said: "What to you does it seem to mean, Lavine?" "-- It is like my own body lying Beyond the door Where the servants glide in and about The carpeted floor; And it means my death hour! --" "-- What a fancy! Who feels like dying While these smart sallies pour, With laughter between! To me it is more like satin sheen, Lavine." "-- That means your new bride, when you win her: Yes, so it must be! It's her satin dress, no doubt -- That shine you see -- My own corpse to me!" And a gloom came over the dinner, Where almost strangers were we, As the spirit of the scene Forsook her -- the fairest of the whole thirteen -- Lavine! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A WIFE IN LONDON by THOMAS HARDY SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ANNE RUTLEDGE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS TO HIS LATE MAJESTY, CONCERNING..TRUE FORM OF ENGLISH POETRY by JOHN BEAUMONT THE IVORY GATE; LOVE-IN-IDLENESS by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES I SHALL BE SATISFIED by MARTIN BEHEMB ON EDWARD WEBBE, ENGLISH GUNNER by WILLIAM ROSE BENET HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 1 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |