A January Night
by Thomas Hardy
The rain smites more and more,
The east wind snarls and sneezes;
Through the joints of the quivering door
The water wheezes.
The tip of each ivy-shoot Writhes on its neighbour's face; There is some hid dread afoot That we cannot trace. Is it the spirit astray Of the man at the house below Whose coffin they took in to-day? We do not know.
Poems of the Week for The Monarch Writers.com
are chosen by our resident poet Jennifer Patino of ThistleThoughts.com
Cover image: Kutna Hora by Aleksei Mikhailov