The morning mists still haunt the stony street; The northern summer air is shrill and cold; And lo, the Hospital, grey, quiet, old, Where Life and Death like friendly chafferers meet. Thro' the loud spaciousness and draughty gloom A small, strange child -- so aged yet so young! -- Her little arm besplintered and beslung, Precedes me gravely to the waiting-room. The grey-haired soldier-porter waves me on, And on I crawl, and still my spirits fail: A tragic meanness seems so to environ These corridors and stairs of stone and iron, Cold, naked, clean -- half workhouse and half-jail. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOMING BRAVES by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON MANOKWARI, IRIAN JAYA; IN MEMORIAM, ALFRED RUSSEL WALLACE by KAREN SWENSON SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 27 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING MERSA by KEITH CASTELLAINE DOUGLAS THE ARGUMENT OF HIS BOOK by ROBERT HERRICK |