On a Grey Thread/Loneliness

by Elsa Gidlow

For works with similar titles, see Loneliness.

Loneliness

This loneliness encaged in meThat has no curious heart for life,No ribald blood, no treacherous fleshNor golden wickedness of song,This loneliness that prays in me,Is it not somewhat like a nun?

See the clasped hands, the secret eyes,The lips pressed close for fear of love!What if I make her drunk one dayWith wine or some unholy needThen leave the cell door open wide—Think you she might be tempted out?

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