Prophecy by Elinor Wylie
Every time I come across a poem by Elinor Wylie I think, “I really need to read more of her stuff,” and I still haven’t. I’m always impressed when I read a poem of hers, though.
Prophecy
By Elinor Wylie
I shall lie hidden in a hut
In the middle of an alder wood,
With the back door blind and bolted shut,
And the front door locked for good.
I shall lie folded like a saint.
Lapped in a scented linen sheet,
On a bedstead striped with bright-blue paint,
Narrow and cold and neat.
The midnight will be glassy black
Behind the panes, with wind about
To set his mouth against a crack
And blow the candle out.
