Rooms

Charlotte Mew

1869 to 1928

Poem Image
Track 1

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

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