The Long Small Room
THE long small room that showed willows in the westNarrowed up to the end the fireplace filled,Although not wide. I liked it. No one guessedWhat need or accident made them so build.
Only the moon, the mouse and the sparrow peepedIn from the ivy round the casement thick.Of all they saw and heard there they shall keepThe tale for the old ivy and older brick.
When I look back I am like moon, sparrow and mouseThat witnessed what they could never understandOr alter or prevent in the dark house.One thing remains the same--this my right hand
Crawling crab-like over the clean white page,Resting awhile each morning on the pillow,Then once more starting to crawl on towards age.The hundred last leaves stream upon the willow.
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