Staring corpselike at the ceiling, See his harsh, unrazored features, Ghastly brown against the pillow, And his throat -- so strangely bandaged! Lack of work and lack of victuals, A debauch of smuggled whiskey, And, although his knife was edgeless, He was sinking fast towards one, When they came, and found, and saved him. Stupid now with shame and sorrow, In the night I hear him sobbing. But sometimes he talks a little. He has told me all his troubles. In his broad face, tanned and bloodless, White and wild his eyeballs glisten; And his smile, occult and tragic, Yet so slavish, makes you shudder! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FOUR-LEAF CLOVER by ELLA (RHOADS) HIGGINSON TWO POEMS TO HANS THOMA ON HIS SIXIETH BIRTHDAY: 1. MOONLIGHT NIGHT by RAINER MARIA RILKE THE FIFTEEN ACRES by JAMES STEPHENS THE EAGLE; A FRAGMENT by ALFRED TENNYSON BRIDAL SERENADE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |