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. Beside the Dead
2. Cupid Kissed Me
3. With the Caravan
4. Marah
5. Not Yet

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

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