Poets | Bookstore | Poem of the Day | Top 40 | Search | Comments | Privacy
November 26th, 2014 - we have 234 poets, 8,025 poems and 279,625 comments.
Edgar Lee Masters - Harold Arnett

I leaned against the mantel, sick, sick,
Thinking of my failure, looking into the abysm,
Weak from the noon-day heat.
A church bell sounded mournfully far away,
I heard the cry of a baby,
And the coughing of John Yarnell,
Bed-ridden, feverish, feverish, dying,
Then the violent voice of my wife:
"Watch out, the potatoes are burning!"
I smelled them ... then there was irresistible disgust.
I pulled the trigger ... blackness ... light ...
Unspeakable regret ... fumbling for the world again.
Too late! Thus I came here,
With lungs for breathing ... one cannot breathe here with lungs,
Though one must breathe.... Of what use is it
To rid one's self of the world,
When no soul may ever escape the eternal destiny of life? 

Share |

Added: Mar 18 2005 | Viewed: 1652 times | Comments and analysis of Harold Arnett by Edgar Lee Masters Comments (0)

Harold Arnett - Comments and Information

Poet: Edgar Lee Masters
Poem: Harold Arnett
There are no comments for this poem. Why not be the first one to post something about it?

Are you looking for more information on this poem? Perhaps you are trying to analyze it? The poem, Harold Arnett, has not yet been commented on. You can click here to be the first to post a comment about it.

Poem Info

Masters Info
Copyright © 2000-2012 Gunnar Bengtsson. All Rights Reserved. Links | Bookstore