IN a room of the palace Black Mrs. Behemoth Gave way to wroth And the wildest malice. Cried Mrs. Behemoth, "Come, court lady, Doomed like a moth, Through palace rooms shady!" The candle flame Seemed a yellow pompion, Sharp as a scorpion, Nobody came . . . Only a bugbear Air unkind, That bud-furred papoose, The young spring wind, Blew out the candle. Where is it gone? To flat Coromandel Rolling on! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DR. SCUDDER'S CLINICAL LECTURE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS A MILLION YOUNG WORKMEN, 1915 by CARL SANDBURG A GAGE D'AMOUR by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON THE HERONS OF ELMWOOD by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW PASSER MORTUUS EST by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY |