With what style The final exit— Ever before harried By the silver candlesticks, The spare-bed mattress, And the packing of first editions, In the dreary progress From drab doorways— Now, as a sword from the scabbard, Away! Not a cob-web to hold To earth. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE METROPOLITAN TOWER by SARA TEASDALE CINQUAIN: THE WARNING by ADELAIDE CRAPSEY A CORN SONG by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE IRISH SPINNING-WHEEL by ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES THE DYING WORDS OF STONEWALL JACKSON by SIDNEY LANIER ANTHEM FOR DOOMED YOUTH by WILFRED OWEN PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 41. YA HASIB by EDWIN ARNOLD ON GOOD FRIDAY, THE DAY OF OUR SAVIOUR'S PASSION by PHILIP AYRES |