DARK, thinned, beside the wall of stone, The box dripped in the air; Its odor through my house was blown Into the chamber there. Remote and yet distinct the scent, The sole thing of the kind, As though one spoke a word half meant That left a sting behind. I knew not Grief would go from me, And naught of it be plain, Except how keen the box can be After a fall of rain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ROBERT OF LINCOLN by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT A SUMMER'S NIGHT by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR PRELUDES: 1-4 (COMPLETE) by THOMAS STEARNS ELIOT KATHLEEN O'MORE by GEORGE NUGENT REYNOLDS KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY THE BROKEN FIELD by SARA TEASDALE BALLAD: THE THINGS OF NO ACCOUNT by FRANCOIS VILLON THE ARGONAUTS (ARGONATUICA): MEDEA'S DREAM by APOLLONIUS RHODIUS |