SOMETHING tapped on the pane of my room When there was never a trace Of wind or rain, and I saw in the gloom My weary Beloved's face. 'O I am tired of waiting,' she said, 'Night, morn, noon, afternoon; So cold it is in my lonely bed, And I thought you would join me soon!' I rose and neared the window-glass, But vanished thence had she: Only a pallid moth, alas, Tapped at the pane for me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TROY PARK: 5. THE CAT by EDITH SITWELL EFFIGY OF A NUN (SIXTEENTH CENTURY) by SARA TEASDALE NOVEMBER BLUE by ALICE MEYNELL THE SANDPIPER by CELIA LEIGHTON THAXTER A PENNY'S WORTH OF POESY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS |