Introspection by Ernest Walsh

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                    <p>Copyright &#169; Markus Kittlaus</p>
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                    <author>Stephen Crane</author>
                    <date when="1924">1924</date>
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                <name>Markus Kittlaus</name>
                Modified program and transcribed poem</change>
            <change when="20190928">
                <name>Matt Cohen</name> Modification of template for Intro DH</change>
            <change when="20130111">
                <name>Amanda Gailey</name> Creation of template</change>
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                <title>Introspection</title>
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            <ab>POETRY: A Magazine of Verse</ab>
            <lg type="stanza">
                <l>My brain</l>
                <l>A creaking mill</l>
                <l>In a frozen stream.</l>
                <l/>
                <l>My soul </l>
                <l>The ghost of him</l>
                <l>Who played there as a boy.</l>
                <l/>
                <l>My heart</l>
                <l>A dead man's house</l>
                <l>                                II</l>
                <l>Owl and nightingale am I-</l>
                <l>Seeing only through darkness,</l>
                <l>Heard only at evening.</l>
                <l>                               III</l>
                <l>The hours move like rustling leaves on a tree-</l>
                <l>When the leaves fall</l>
                <l>Let only gentle fingers touch them.</l>
                <l/>
                <l/>
                <l>                  INTROSPECTION</l>
                <l/>
                <l/>
                <l>When night lets down the curtain,</l>
                <l>Shutting out the world,</l>
                <l>Then-</l>
                <l>Is your heart a radiant thing?</l>
                <l/>
                <l>And does it flash,</l>
                <l>High-towered,</l>
                <l>                           [180]</l>
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Poem by Ernest Walsh in XML 2019 Matrix Living Publishers© 2019

Copyright © Markus Kittlaus

In Hospital by Ernest Walsh Stephen Crane 1924 This Quarter Paris

This transcription was made from a book.

Markus Kittlaus Modified program and transcribed poem Matt Cohen Modification of template for Intro DH Amanda Gailey Creation of template
Introspection POETRY: A Magazine of Verse My brain A creaking mill In a frozen stream. My soul  5 The ghost of him Who played there as a boy. My heart A dead man's house 10 II Owl and nightingale am I- Seeing only through darkness, Heard only at evening. III 15 The hours move like rustling leaves on a tree- When the leaves fall Let only gentle fingers touch them.  20 INTROSPECTION When night lets down the curtain, Shutting out the world, 25 Then- Is your heart a radiant thing? And does it flash, High-towered, 30 [180]

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Poem by Ernest Walsh in XML 2019 Matrix Living Publishers© 2019

Copyright © Markus Kittlaus

In Hospital by Ernest Walsh Stephen Crane 1924 This Quarter Paris

This transcription was made from a book.

Markus Kittlaus Modified program and transcribed poem Matt Cohen Modification of template for Intro DH Amanda Gailey Creation of template
Introspection POETRY: A Magazine of Verse My brain A creaking mill In a frozen stream. My soul The ghost of him Who played there as a boy. My heart A dead man's house II Owl and nightingale am I- Seeing only through darkness, Heard only at evening. III The hours move like rustling leaves on a tree- When the leaves fall Let only gentle fingers touch them. INTROSPECTION When night lets down the curtain, Shutting out the world, Then- Is your heart a radiant thing? And does it flash, High-towered, [180]