What a terrible night! Does the Night, I wonder- <br />The Night, with her black veil down to her feet <br />Like an ordained nun, know what lies under <br />That awful, motionless, snow-white sheet? <br />The winds seem crazed, and, wildly howling, <br />Over the sad earth blindly go. <br />Do they and the dark clouds over them scowling, <br />Do they dream or know? <br /> <br /> <br />Why, here in the room, not a week or over- <br />Tho' it must be a week, not more than one- <br />(I cannot reckon of late or discover <br />When one day is ended or one begun), <br />But here in this room we were laughing lightly, <br />And glad was the measure our two hearts beat; <br />And the royal face that was smiling so brightly <br />Lies under that sheet. <br /> <br /> <br />I know not why-it is strange and fearful, <br />But I am afraid of her, lying there; <br />She who was always so gay and cheerful, <br />Lying so still with that stony stare: <br />She who was so like some grand sultana, <br />Fond of color and glow and heat, <br />To lie there clothed in that awful manner <br />In a stark white sheet. <br /> <br /> <br />She who was made out of summer blisses, <br />Tropical, beautiful, gracious, fair, <br />To lie and stare at my fondest kisses- <br />God! no wonder it whitens my hair. <br />Shriek, oh, wind! for the world is lonely; <br />Trail cloud-veil to the nun Night's feet. <br />For all that I prized in life is only <br />A shape and a sheet.<br /><br />Ella Wheeler Wilcox<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/under-the-sheet/
