Interior, by Mariano Brull


Here in her little room all still and lone
The things that made her life are greeting me.
It seems as though her body as it went
Had left a spirit footprint, mindfully.

'Twould seem as in the mirror-moon were shown
The shadowy glimpse of what she used to be; --
And sing more sad her bird its caged lament, --
And through the room her absence whisper free--

Her gilt-edged book of prayers is lying there
Upon the table; and it says: "The care
Is small of worldlings, -- Upon God, thine eye!"
I raise my glance, and in my grief I moan: --
Oh, had I but, that final hour, known
The anguished sweetness of her last goodbye! - Mariano Brull

Mariano Brull