The soft, grey garment of the rushing rain Veils in the lonely, Sunday streets afar. The passengers sit dumb within the car— Slow drops slip wearily down the window-pane. A funeral procession takes its way Across the tracks, the car stands still a space, All eyes are turned and every anxious face,— Save one, that laughs oblivious of delay. Holding her baby close against her breast, The heart of love, too glad to comprehend, And Life at war with Death until the end, The mother throned serene amid the rest. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON A CHILD by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR TO YOUTH by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR THE GARDEN OF PROSERPINE by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE THE EVENING CLOUD by JOHN WILSON (1785-1854) A WINTRY LULLABY by LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA |