Harold Arnett

Edgar Lee Masters 1868 (Garnett) – 1950 (Elkins Park)



I leaned against the mantel, sick, sick,
Thinking of my failure, looking into the abysm,
Weak from the noon-day heat.
A church bell sounded mournfully far away,
I heard the cry of a baby,
And the coughing of John Yarnell,
Bed-ridden, feverish, feverish, dying,
Then the violent voice of my wife:
"Watch out, the potatoes are burning!"
I smelled them ... then there was irresistible disgust.
I pulled the trigger ... blackness ... light ...
Unspeakable regret ... fumbling for the world again.
Too late! Thus I came here,
With lungs for breathing ... one cannot breathe here with lungs,
Though one must breathe.... Of what use is it
To rid one's self of the world,
When no soul may ever escape the eternal destiny of life?

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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on April 04, 2023

37 sec read
91

Quick analysis:

Scheme ABCDEFGHGIJKLMNOH
Closest metre Iambic pentameter
Characters 713
Words 124
Stanzas 1
Stanza Lengths 17

Edgar Lee Masters

Edgar Lee Masters was an American poet, biographer, and dramatist. more…

All Edgar Lee Masters poems | Edgar Lee Masters Books

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