Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE WET MONTH, by HENRY BATAILLE First Line: Here in the laundry, through the blurred windowpane Last Line: And float for shelter into vases deep. | ||||||||
HERE in the laundry, through the blurred windowpane I have seen the night of Autumn falling grey . . . A wanderer passes the ditches full of rain . . . Traveller, traveller from of old who goest away Now when the shepherds from the hills descend, Haste thee! The fires are quenched upon that way, And the doors closed in the land which is thine end . . . The road is empty and the rustle of grass Comes from so far it frightens us . . . Haste thee; The lights are out on the old carts that pass . . . 'Tis Autumn sitting in coldness dreamily On the straw chair in the kitchen hid away . . . Autumn that in the dead vines chants his lay . . . This is the moment when unburied men, White bodies washed between the waves in sleep, Feel the first chill of shuddering again And float for shelter into vases deep. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FOUNTAIN OF PITY by HENRY BATAILLE THE LAST LULLABY by HENRY BATAILLE DOMESDAY BOOK: CHARLES WARREN, THE SHERIFF by EDGAR LEE MASTERS DOMESDAY BOOK: THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE LAUGHERS by LOUIS UNTERMEYER ON THE DEATH OF RICHARD WEST by THOMAS GRAY SWEET MEETING OF DESIRES by COVENTRY KERSEY DIGHTON PATMORE VENICE by JOHN ADDINGTON SYMONDS |
|