An upper chamber in a darkened house, Where, ere his footsteps reached ripe manhood's brink, Terror and anguish were his lot to drink; I cannot rid the thought nor hold it close But dimly dream upon that man alone: Now though the autumn clouds most softly pass, The cricket chides beneath the doorstep stone And greener than the season grows the grass. Nor can I drop my lids nor shade my brows, But there he stands beside the lifted sash; And with a swooning of the heart, I think Where the black shingles slope to meet the boughs And, shattered on the roof like smallest snows, The tiny petals of the mountain ash. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE JAIN BIRD HOSPITAL IN DELHI by WILLIAM MEREDITH A PORTRAIT OF MY ROOF by JAMES GALVIN DESIRE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE MAN TO BE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE DINNER-PARTY by AMY LOWELL UNDER A PATCHED SAIL by MARIANNE MOORE YOU SAY YOU SAID by MARIANNE MOORE |