Poems (Mansfield)/Loneliness
For works with similar titles, see Loneliness.
POEMS 1911-1913
LONELINESS
Now it is Loneliness who comes at nightInstead of Sleep, to sit beside my bed.Like a tired child I lie and wait her tread,I watch her softly blowing out the light.Motionless sitting, neither left nor rightShe turns, and weary, weary droops her head.She, too, is old; she, too, has fought the fight.So, with the laurel she is garlanded.
'Through the sad dark the slowly ebbing tideBreaks on a barren shore, unsatisfied.A strange wind flows . . . then silence. I am fainTo turn to Loneliness, to take her hand,Cling to her, waiting, till the barren landFills with the dreadful monotone of rain. 1911.