Poetry Forum Areas

Introduce Yourself

New to PoetrySoup? Introduce yourself here. Tell us something about yourself.

Looking for a Poem

Can't find a poem you've read before? Looking for a poem for a special person or an occasion? Ask other member for help.

Writing Poetry

Ways to improve your poetry. Post your techniques, tips, and creative ideas how to write better.

High Critique

For poets who want unrestricted constructive criticism. This is NOT a vanity workshop. If you do not want your poem seriously critiqued, do not post here. Constructive criticism only. PLEASE Only Post One Poem a Day!!!

How do I...?

Ask PoetrySoup Members how to do something or find something on PoetrySoup.

You have an ad blocker! We understand, but...

PoetrySoup is a small privately owned website. Our means of support comes from advertising revenue. We want to keep PoetrySoup alive, make it better, and keep it free. Please support us by disabling your ad blocker on PoetrySoup. See how to enable ads while keeping your ad blocker active. Also, did you know you can become a PoetrySoup Lifetime Premium Member and block ads forever...while getting many more great features. Take a look! Thank you!
Get Your Premium Membership

First Death In Nova Scotia

by
 In the cold, cold parlor
my mother laid out Arthur
beneath the chromographs:
Edward, Prince of Wales,
with Princess Alexandra,
and King George with Queen Mary.
Below them on the table stood a stuffed loon shot and stuffed by Uncle Arthur, Arthur's father.
Since Uncle Arthur fired a bullet into him, he hadn't said a word.
He kept his own counsel on his white, frozen lake, the marble-topped table.
His breast was deep and white, cold and caressable; his eyes were red glass, much to be desired.
"Come," said my mother, "Come and say good-bye to your little cousin Arthur.
" I was lifted up and given one lily of the valley to put in Arthur's hand.
Arthur's coffin was a little frosted cake, and the red-eyed loon eyed it from his white, frozen lake.
Arthur was very small.
He was all white, like a doll that hadn't been painted yet.
Jack Frost had started to paint him the way he always painted the Maple Leaf (Forever).
He had just begun on his hair, a few red strokes, and then Jack Frost had dropped the brush and left him white, forever.
The gracious royal couples were warm in red and ermine; their feet were well wrapped up in the ladies' ermine trains.
They invited Arthur to be the smallest page at court.
But how could Arthur go, clutching his tiny lily, with his eyes shut up so tight and the roads deep in snow?

Poem by
Biography | Poems | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes | Email Poem - First Death In Nova ScotiaEmail Poem | Create an image from this poem

Poems are below...


Top Elizabeth Bishop Poems

Analysis and Comments on First Death In Nova Scotia

Provide your analysis, explanation, meaning, interpretation, and comments on the poem First Death In Nova Scotia here.