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Poem by William Ernest Henley


In Hospital. 2. Waiting


A square, squat room (a cellar on promotion),
   Drab to the soul, drab to the very daylight;
   Plasters astray in unnatural-looking tinware;
   Scissors and lint and apothecary’s jars.

Here, on a bench a skeleton would writhe from,
   Angry and sore, I wait to be admitted:
   Wait till my heart is lead upon my stomach,
   While at their ease two dressers do their chores.

One has a probe—it feels to me a crowbar.
   A small boy sniffs and shudders after bluestone.
   A poor old tramp explains his poor old ulcers.
   Life is (I think) a blunder and a shame.



William Ernest Henley


William Ernest Henley's other poems:
  1. In Hospital. 12. Etching
  2. Rhymes and Rhythms. 21. When the Wind Storms by with a Shout, and the Stern Sea-Caves
  3. In Hospital. 14. Ave, Caeser!
  4. Echoes. 44. If It Should Come to Be
  5. Echoes. 22. The West a Glimmering Lake of Light


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