Poem by Elinor Wylie

Prophecy

I shall die hidden in a hut
In the middle of an alder wood,
With the back door blind and bolted shut,
And the front door locked for good.

I shall lie folded like a saint,
Lapped in a scented linen sheet,
On a bedstead striped with bright-blue paint,
Narrow and cold and neat.

The midnight will be glassy black
Behind the panes, with wind about
To set his mouth against a crack
And blow the candle out.

1. The Pekingese
2. In Our Content, before the Autumn Came
3. Upon Your Heart, Which Is.the Heart of All
4. Absent Thee from Felicity Awhile
5. The Broken Man

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