ACOLD wind entered the lamp-lit room, As winter never enters the street. I shut my book on a rose in bloom, And gathered my strength my doom to meet; There never was rose so dark and sweet. The door was shut and the window barred; The air was full of the rose's breath, And close at my side my love kept guard, And tried to hold me away from Death, But touched him not, though he held me hard. The cold wind blew on my weary brows, The cold wind crept on the soles of my feet; In the deep of night, in the sleeping house, I heard in my bosom the trapped heart beat, And lifted my eyes my doom to meet. Death and my love by me stood so close, The cold wind lifted their yellow hair. My love was as pale as a Christmas rose; Death was as tall and twice as fair, With the patient eyes of a wayfarer. I took my hands from my dear love's hold: Back I fell from my dear love's kiss. Is it Love or Death, then, whose breast feels cold Against my heart, where the red rose is? Will Death's white rose match herself with this? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OUT OF THE OLD HOUSE, NANCY by WILLIAM MCKENDREE CARLETON THE ANGELUS; HEARD AT THE MISSION DOLORES IN SAN FRANCISCO, 1868 by FRANCIS BRET HARTE THE CORAL GROVE by JAMES GATES PERCIVAL ICHABOD by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER SATIRES: 51. UPON NOTHING by JOHN WILMOT THE MOUNT OF OLIVES, SELECTION by ANEIRIN WHAT IS THE SPIRIT? by KATHARINE LEE BATES |