On the Threshold

Amy Levy 1861 (London) – 1889 (London)



O God, my dream! I dreamed that you were dead;
Your mother hung above the couch and wept
Whereon you lay all white, and garlanded
With blooms of waxen whiteness. I had crept
Up to your chamber-door, which stood ajar,
And in the doorway watched you from afar,
Nor dared advance to kiss your lips and brow.
I had no part nor lot in you, as now;
Death had not broken between us the old bar;
Nor torn from out my heart the old, cold sense
Of your misprision and my impotence.

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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on April 07, 2023

28 sec read
470

Quick analysis:

Scheme ABABCCDDCEF
Closest metre Iambic pentameter
Characters 469
Words 94
Stanzas 1
Stanza Lengths 11

Amy Levy

Amy Levy was a British essayist, poet, and novelist best remembered for her feminist positions and her homosexual romances during the Victorian era. more…

All Amy Levy poems | Amy Levy Books

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