My mother <br />Foresaw deaths <br />And walked among <br />Chrysanthemums, <br />Winecolored, <br />Withered rose, <br />The earthy blossoms. <br /> <br />My very breath <br />Disowned <br />In nights of study, <br />And page by page <br />I came on spring. <br /> <br />The rats run on the roof, <br />These words come hard--- <br />Sadder than cockcrow <br />In a dreamless, earthen sleep. <br />The Christ, eternal <br />In the scented cold; my love, <br />Her hand on the sill <br />White, as if out of earth; <br />And spring, the sleep of the dead.<br /><br />Yvor Winters<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dark-spring/
