How have I wandered here to this vaulted room
In the house of life?-the floor was ruffled with gold
Last evening, and she who was softly in bloom,
Glimmered as flowers that in perfume at twilight unfold
For the flush of the night; whereas now the gloom
Of every dirty, must-besprinkled mould,
And damp old web of misery's heirloom
Deadens this day's grey-dropping arras-fold.
And what is this that floats on the undermist
Of the mirror towards the dusty grate, as if feeling
Unsightly its way to the warmth?-this thing with a list
To the left?-this ghost like a candle swealing?
Pale-blurred, with two round black drops, as if it missed
Itself among everything else, here hungrily stealing
Upon me!-my own reflection!-explicit gist
Of my presence there in the mirror that leans from the ceiling!
Then will somebody square this shade with the being I know
I was last night, when my soul rang clear as a bell
And happy as rain in summer? Why should it be so?
What is there gone against me, why am I in hell?
Next Morning
D. H. Lawrence
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Poem topics: happy, house, life, rain, summer, evening, reflection, soul, shade, room, clear, dirty, candle, ghost, gold, square, black, floor, Valentine's Day, bloom, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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