Rooms
Charlotte Mew
1869 to 1928
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I remember rooms that have had their part
In the steady slowing down of the heart.
room in Paris, the room at Geneva,
The damp room with the seaweed smell,
And that maddening sound of the tide—
Rooms where good or for ill—things died.
But there is room where we (two) lie dead,
Though every we seem to wake and might just as well to sleep again
As we shall somewhere the other quieter, dustier bed
Out there the sun—in the rain.