Explore "Beatrice" by Sara Teasdale on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Send out the singers -- let the room be still; / They have not eased my pain nor brought me sleep. / Close out the sun, for I would have it dark / That I may feel how black the grave will be.
The sun is setting, for the light is red, / And you are outlined in a golden fire, / Like Ursula upon an altar-screen.