by Lizette Woodworth Reese (1856 - 1935)

Silence
Language: English 
My seven lovers are come back;
They stand about my gilded bed:
One says: "Of mirths she had no lack;"
One says: "Now all her griefs are sped."

I lie there a white apricot bough
The rain has tumbled to the grass,
That folk will lift in a moment now
Out of the cumbered road, and pass.

One of the seven stands alone,
His stark blue cloak like a gust behind;
He stares down at me as at stone,
With not a word of any kind.

Confirmed with Lizette Woodworth Reese, Wild Cherry, Baltimore, Md: The Norman, Remington Co, 1923.


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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website: 2022-01-22
Line count: 12
Word count: 86