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.