You told me he stood at the window
and wept the ending of his innocence
outlined on the lamplit world
the rain falling soundless before him
and would not turn until you turned away
and would not speak
and I
would rather you forgot that day
that singular budding of pain
in the rich may
and I
would come to you clear-hearted
serene in the brilliant winter
the dark shape that wept at the window
About this Poem
This poem was taken from The Essential Tom Marshall, which you can find, along with other works by the author, in our catalogue.