THE gaunt brown walls
Look infinite in their decent meanness.
There is nothing of home in the noisy kettle,
The fulsome fire.
Suggests the trail of a ghostly druggist.
Dressings and lint on the long, lean table —
Whom are they for?
The patients yawn,
Or lie as in training for shroud and coffin.
A nurse in the corridor scolds and wrangles.
It's grim and strange.
Far footfalls clank.
The bad burn waits with his head unbandaged.
My neighbour chokes in the clutch of chloral . . .
O, a gruesome world!
Henley, W. E. "In Hospital." Poems. 2nd edition. London: David Nutt, 1889. P. 5.
Last modified 26 November 2004