He whispered her that if she had forgiven
His startling her that afternoon, the clock
Marked early bed-time. Surely it was Heaven
He entered when she opened to his knock.
The hours rustled in the trailing wind
Over the chimney. Close they lay and knew
Only that they were wedded. At his touch
Anxiety she threw
Away like a shed garment, and inclined
Herself to cherish him, her happy mind
Quivering, unthinking, loving overmuch.
Pickthorn Manor: 51
Amy Lowell
(1)
Poem topics: away, happy, heaven, time, wind, mind, touch, clock, early, anxiety, cherish, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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