REMOTE, strange relics of romance are piled
Inside and out, each with its tragic tale.
Forlorn, quiescent. Listen ! Through the
pale
Past, through the silence, from far lands beguiled.
They stir, they call. The moan of some dead child;
A drunkard’s haggling curse; a woman’s wail,
That he might drink and drowse; that she might
quail
Through one more timorous night, still undefiled.
Or there comes fluttering in some dainty dame,
Who for one trinket snatches for one week
More than a strong man saves through many years.
Here all may come – they bring their vice and shame,
As with their woe the floors and rafters reek;
The very air is heavy with their tears!
(E J Rupert Atkinson)
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Based on Topics: Night Poems, Past Poems, Woman Poems, Silence Poems, Romantic Love Poems, Listening PoemsBased on Keywords: trinket, quiescent, haggling