Part I: The Tragedy
It is December, 1899. The speaker describes an unnamed woman in London sitting amidst the gray smoggy/foggy London sky. The illumination of the streetlight fades into the sticky and oppressive atmosphere. There is a knock at the door from a messenger and the news that has uncontrollably flashed through her head countless times announces that it has become a reality in the form of a telegram held in her hand as she tries to gauge its meaning through a hazy fog now inside her head. The news is from the battlefield: an unidentified he—almost certainly her husband, of course—has been killed in a place described only as a land far to the South that is actually South Africa during the Boer War.
Part II: The Irony
It is the next morning and the fog has somehow managed to grow even thicker. The postman arrives and brings with him a letter written sent before but arriving after the bad news; a letter written in his hand which now lies dead and buried. The irony deepens as his letter is placed in contrast to the telegram which was terse and to the point. By contrast, his letter reveals an author who composed while in high spirits fueled by the hopes of a safe return home nearing realization. He also outlines simple fans to enjoy life to the fullest: taking jaunts together by the stream and over hill and dale while enjoying the warmth of summer and the opportunity for their love to grown, expand and deepen as they proceeded upon a path of discovering new things about each other.
