@3Good Heaven, it is not I who stares out of the glass, That hairy-chested man, unshaven, grave and crass.@1 This morning was so blue, The sky was just like new, And so nurse took me out to play upon the grass. My little sailor-suit had not yet flown away Up to the attic trunk where it is locked to stay. Just now laid aside, Collar drooping, wide, Drowsy, it hangs against the door as it hangs every day. Was I not in the kitchen when at four o'clock The wintry smell of coffee wreathed a voluble tick-tock, I looked so shy and sweet, Just come, on tingling feet, From the skating-pond with brother where I'd strutted like a cock. Today again old nurse put fear into my heart, Fear of the watchman Kakitz who stands in the park, apart. Often of wretched nights When wind blows out the lights I hear this devil limp along through darkness and depart. The good old woman, but why won't she come? My head is heavy with sleep, my body numb. If she would just come in And take with her the thin Small light that overhead keeps up its steady hum. But no still tread is heard, softened by eventide, And Babi does not come and take the light outside. @3Just that stout man stands there With his helpless stare Till he runs from the mirror, swiftly, terrified.@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...I MAY, I MIGHT, I MUST by MARIANNE MOORE AFTER TU FU (THEY SAY YOU'RE STAYING IN A MOUNTAIN TEMPLE) by MARVIN BELL SURFACES AND MASKS; 30 by CLARENCE MAJOR DOMESDAY BOOK: HENRY BAKER, AT NEW YORK by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE BURIAL OF BOSTON CORBETT (ONE WARDEN TO ANOTHER) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |