The soft, grey garment of the rushing rain Veils in the lonely, Sunday streets afar. The passengers sit dumb within the car— Slow drops slip wearily down the window-pane. A funeral procession takes its way Across the tracks, the car stands still a space, All eyes are turned and every anxious face,— Save one, that laughs oblivious of delay. Holding her baby close against her breast, The heart of love, too glad to comprehend, And Life at war with Death until the end, The mother throned serene amid the rest. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE STARLIGHT NIGHT by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: RUTHERFORD MCDOWELL by EDGAR LEE MASTERS AN ELEGIE, OR FRIENDS PASSION, FOR HIS ASTROPHILL by MATTHEW ROYDEN IMPROMPTU LINES ON JULY FOURTH by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS |