My mouth's full of snow, full of snow again Who is there I could tell you've been dead for two hours? I can tell only myself: the first stranger. A scarf's round my neck, as though I was dressing to go to you, but I'm just standing under a crooked street light on the forsaken hill, the print of your hand on my scarf still. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HUGH SELWYN MAUBERLEY: 13. ENVOI, 1919 by EZRA POUND OVER THE RIVER by NANCY WOODBURY PRIEST MONNA INNOMINATA, A SONNET OF SONNETS: 7 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI SONNET: 128 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE IN THE GOLD ROOM by OSCAR WILDE COWBOY'S COMPLAINT by SQUIRE OMAR BARKER POLYHYMNIA: L'ENVOY by WILLIAM BASSE |