Poem by Eleanor Farjeon

The Outlet

Grief struck me. I so shook in heart and wit
I thought I must speak of it or die of it.

A certain friend I had with strength to lend,
When mine was spent I went to find my friend,

Who, rising up with eyes wild for relief,
Hung on my neck and spoke to me of grief.

I raked the ashes of my burned-out strength
And found one coal to warm her with at length.

I sat with her till I was icy cold.
At last I went away, my grief untold.

1. Sonnets. 11. A few of us who faltered as we fared
2. Sonnets. 16. O lovely life, how you have worn me out
3. Little Dream-Brother
4. In the Oculist's Anteroom
5. Poplars at Night

Emily Dickinson The Outlet ("My river runs to thee")

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