A person rummaging in a dark corner uncovers an old portrait and a heap of magazines. Brushing off the dust, he finds a face that feels eerily like his own, but it stares back with what looks like hatred. The magazines contain everything the person in the portrait wrote—all the effort of long years that ended in silence and obscurity. The speaker is shaken by how little remains: only dust-covered pages and a bitter, forgotten face. The old portrait and magazines become a mirror of his possible future. He dreads that his own writing will end up just as neglected, and that his own face will one day glare out from the same dust. The mood is grim, claustrophobic, and anxious, centered on the fear of being forgotten and the seeming futility of creative labor.
In the Dark Corner — Summary
I brush the dust from this old portrait: Yes, it is the same face, exactly, Why does it look at me still with such a look of hate?
I brush the dust from a heap of magazines: Here there is all what you have written, All that you struggled long years and went down to darkness for.
O God, to think what I am writing Will be ever as this!
O God, to think that my own face May some day glare from this dust!