Paul Laurence Dunbar
A KNOCK is at her door, but she is weak;
Strange dews have washed the paint streaks from her cheek;
She does not rise, but, ah, this friend is known,
And knows that he will find her all alone.
So opens he the door, and with soft tread
Goes straightway to the richly curtained bed.
His soft hand on her dewy head he lays.
A strange white light she gives him for his gaze.
Then, looking on the glory of her charms,
He crushes her resistless in his arms.
Stand back! look not upon this bold embrace,
Nor view the calmness of the wanton's face;
With joy unspeakable and 'bated breath,
She keeps her last, long liaison with death!
Paul Laurence Dunbar's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Dead by Paul Laurence Dunbar )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
Did you read them?
- Love In A Bottle, Midnights Voice
- Oh Mediterranean sea, fgbkehdguwheqi rewfgwej
- Ramblings of Devils Workshop, Nalini Chaturvedi
- BEFORE YOU CAST THE STONE, kevinsky nyaga
- Remembering you Bother, NEDRA WILSON
- Noemia de Sousa (The Poem of Joao), African Poems
- Hard Times for Horses, Janet Armstrong
- Pappou Elias' Poem, Elia Michael
- Dispirited Humanity, Aftab Alam
- A nonentity's. Life, Nalini Chaturvedi