Friday, January 3, 2003
On The Threshold Comments
Rating: ★2.8
O God, my dream! I dreamed that you were dead;
Your mother hung above the couch and wept
Whereon you lay all white, and garlanded
With blooms of waxen whiteness. I had crept
...
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7/21/2025 10:38:22 PM # 1.0.0
Death had not broken between us the old bar; Nor torn from out my heart the old, cold sense Of your misprision and my impotence. very nice poem. tony