THE CANDLES
87
Even the moon withdraws her light,
Climbing the poplars out of sight.
Climbing the poplars out of sight.
There's a whiff of jonquils, thick and yellow,
That comes from a bracket near the sill,
And a clock ticks somewhere behind the arras
Like a death-watch heard in a room too still
And I dare not enter until I know
Who lit those candles an hour ago.
That comes from a bracket near the sill,
And a clock ticks somewhere behind the arras
Like a death-watch heard in a room too still
And I dare not enter until I know
Who lit those candles an hour ago.
