Poem by Ina Donna Coolbrith

Loneliness

THE waning moon was up; the
Were faint, and very few;
The vines about the window-sill
Were wet with falling dew;

A little, cloud before the wind
Was drifting down the west;
I heard the moaning of the sea
In its unquiet rest:

Until, I know not from what grief,
Or thought of other years,
The hand I leaned upon was cold,
And wet with falling tears.

1. At the Dawn
2. Cupid Kissed Me
3. Beside the Dead
4. Summons
5. In Ended Days, a Child, I Trod Thy Sands

Katherine Mansfield Loneliness ("Now it is Loneliness who comes at night")

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