meet death's hands at his heart. I cannot go to this room, Without feeling something big and angry Waiting for me To throw me on the bed, And press its thumbs in my throat. The clump of jessamine Without, beneath the rain, Rocks its golden flowers. LIBRARY Stuffy smell of mouldering leather, Tattered arm-chairs, creaking doors, Books that slovenly elbow each other, Sown with children's scrawls and long Worn out by contact with generations: Tattered tramps displaying yourselves— "We, though you broke our backs, did not complain." If I had my way, I would take you out and bury you quickly, Or give you to the clean fire. INDIAN SKULL Some one dug this up and brought it To our house. In the dark upper hall, I see it dimly, Looking at me through the glass. Where dancers have danced, and weary people Have crept to their bedrooms in the morning, Where sick people have tossed all night, Where children have been born, Where feet have gone up and down, Where anger has blazed forth, and strange looks have passed, It has rested, watching meanwhile The opening and shutting of doors, The coming and going of people, The carrying out of coffins. Earth still clings to its eye-sockets, It will wait, till its vengeance is accomplished. OLD NURSERY In the tired face of the mirror There is a blue curtain reflected. If I could lift the reflection, Peer a little beyond, I would see A boy crying Because his sister is ill in another room And he has no one to play with: A boy listlessly scattering building blocks, And crying, Because no one will build for him the palace of Fairy Morgana. I cannot lift the curtain: It is stiff and frozen. THE BACK STAIRS In the afternoon When no one is in the house, I suddenly hear dull dragging feet Go fumbling down those dark back stairs, That climb up twisting, As if they wanted no one to see them. Beating a dirge upon the bare planks I hear those feet and the creak of a long-locked door. My mother often went Up and down those selfsame stairs, From the room where by the window She would sit all day and listlessly Look on the world that had destroyed her, She would go down in the evening To the room where she would sleep, Or rather, not sleep, but all night Lie staring fiercely at the ceiling. In the afternoon When no one is in the house: I suddenly hear dull dragging feet Beating out their futile tune, Up and down those dark back stairs, But there is no one in the shadows. THE WALL CABINET Above the steep back stairs So high that only a ladder can come to it, There is a wall cabinet hidden away. No one ever unlocks it; The key is lost, the door is barred, It is shut and still. Some say, a previous tenant Filled its shelves with rows of bottles, Bottles of spirit, filled with spiders. I do not know. Above the 

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