ONCE in a dreary place where women die, I watched a work-worn spirit leave the clay, And as the breath came quick, in grotesque way, Her fingers thumbed the air, and one foot high Pressed up and down the coverlet awry. The pale nurse nodded; "Every hour each day, So in the mills, poor soul, she earned her pay. I wonder will she like the open sky?" O woman form, that God hath made divine, So cunningly contrived of blood and flesh and breath, That you should spin your soul away in twine, And at the end card wool with waiting Death! Will such as you within the silent tomb, Find only this, a respite from the loom? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SUGGESTED BY THE COVER OF A VOLUME OF KEATS'S POEMS by AMY LOWELL YOUTH'S IMMORTALITY by GEORGE SANTAYANA TEN YEARS OLD by LOUIS UNTERMEYER A NOCTURNAL UPON ST. LUCY'S DAY, BEING THE SHORTEST DAY by JOHN DONNE BLUE-BUTTERFLY DAY by ROBERT FROST |