A fog drifts in, the heavy laden Cold white ghost of the sea One by one the hills go out, The road and the pepper-tree. I watch the fog float in at the window With the whole world gone blind, Everything, even my longing, drowses, Even the thoughts in my mind. I put my head on my hands before me, There is nothing left to be done or said, There is nothing to hope for, I am tired, And heavy as the dead.
Return to the Sara Teasdale library , or . . . Read the next poem; Guenevere