I Wrung My Hands

I wrung my hands under my dark veil. . .
"Why are you pale, what makes you reckless?"
-- Because I have made my loved one drunk
with an astringent sadness.

I'll never forget. He went out, reeling;
his mouth was twisted, desolate. . .
I ran downstairs, not touching the banisters,
and followed him as far as the gate.

And shouted, choking: "I meant it all
in fun. Don't leave me, or I'll die of pain."
He smiled at me -- oh so calmly, terribly --
and said: "Why don't you get out of the rain?"

Poem topics: , ,

Rate this poem:

Add I Wrung My Hands poem to your favorites

Add Poet Anna Akhmatova to your favorites

Popular Poets

Arthur Seymour John Tessimond (2 poems)
Astrologer S.K. Ji. (09887303096) (0 poems)
Edmund Waller (4 poems)
Katharine Tynan (0 poems)
Fanny Greville (1 poems)
Gaspara Stampa (0 poems)
Mamajafa Kaya (0 poems)
Louise Bogan (1 poems)
William Butler Yeats (364 poems)
Andrew Lang (209 poems)

Popular Poems

I'll never love Thee more, by James Graham
The Narrow Road To The Deep North: Prologue, by Matsuo Basho
A Little While, by Sara Teasdale
Henry Howard Brownell, by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
Summer, by Alexander Pope
The Oblation, by Algernon Charles Swinburne
September 1, 1939, by W. H. Auden
England, by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
The Poet's Hope., by Robert Crawford
Footsteps In The Street, by Robert Fuller Murray