Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

(1840 - 1922 / England)

How Grey The World Was - Poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

How grey the world was with its memories,
How dark even this gay room where the motes run!
How black these curtains, thick with murder cries,
These chairs, this floor with things slain in the sun!
'Twas here I strangled love, a year ago,
And hid it 'neath these pillows drenched in blood,
As a mad mother her sweet babe of woe,
Too strong to die, too fair, which shrieks aloud.
How black and bare and bitter the world was
Just yesterday! To--day, this room, dear Heaven,
What laughters fill it! what light footsteps pass!
See, the white chairs dance round me pleasure--driven,
And these sad pillows, where I wept, blab out
The news that you are here, in psalm and shout!


Comments about How Grey The World Was by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

There is no comment submitted by members..



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?



Poem Submitted: Tuesday, April 13, 2010



[Report Error]