Her life, proscribed and narrow, had been spent Immured in dull and characterless rooms. Outside, bare trees, as stark as rows of tombs, Served but to add to her great discontent. "My life is drab as this coarse gown." The pent, Still passion of her words thus voiced the glooms And hopelessness to which existence dooms The one whose thoughts are all on self intent. Then there had come the miracle of snow And changed bare boughs to drifts of fairy lace. The setting sun wove in some golden thread. And something brought her sordid soul to know That she could make the beauty in each place To clothe anew the life she thought was dead. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A LETTER ON THE USE OF MACHINE GUNS AT WEDDINGS by KENNETH PATCHEN MY MOTHER, 1930 by KAREN SWENSON TO AN AEOLIAN HARP by SARA TEASDALE A SONG TO A FAIR YOUNG LADY GOING OUT OF TOWN IN THE SPRING by JOHN DRYDEN ELAINE by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY MOUNTAIN STORM by FRANCES DAVIS ADAMS |