who visits me in a hospital Like a fleet with bellying sails, Like the great bulk of a sea-cliff with the staccato bark of waves about it, Like the tart tang of the sea breeze Are you; Filling the little room where I lie straitly on a white island between pain and pain.
Eunice Tietjens - 1884-1944
You are turned wraith. Your supple, flitting hands, As formless as the night wind’s moan, Beckon across the years, and your heart’s pain Fades surely as a stainèd stone. And yet you will not let me rest, crying And calling down the night to me A thing that when your body moved and glowed, Living, you could not make me see. Lean down your homely, mist-encircled head Close, close above my human ear, And tell me what of pain among the dead— Tell me, and I will try to hear.