Winter 1955 • Vol. XVII No. 1 PoetryJanuary 1, 1955 |

The Closet

I I liked the comfort of that room, But it had no closet space in it, No depths from which bright clothes could come, So where could I put the shoes, the hat, The suit, the tie, with which I groom To please the world when I go out? A closet is the soul of a room. II Where can I put the bright, remark, The friendly look or thought, the laugh, The lavish act? I gather dark To keep them in, dark, sad, aloof, And deepened secrets like a tomb. Who lives aboveboard all his life Will have no closet in his room. III And if I am a suit of clothes, Without the spirit of a man, I, too, will hang away from moths, Brooding in the black, and moan, As if the closet were the womb. If it is true no soul is mine, A soul at least is in the room.

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I I liked the comfort of that room, But it had no closet space in it, No depths from which bright clothes could come, So where could I put the […]

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