|HOLLOW rang the house when I knocked on the door,
|And I lingered on the threshold with my hand
|Upraised to knock and knock once more:
|Listening for the sound of her feet across the floor,
|Hollow re-echoed my heart.
|The low-hung lamps stretched down the road
|With shadows drifting underneath,
|With a music of soft, melodious feet
|Quickening my hope as I hastened to meet
|The low-hung light of her eyes.
|The golden lamps down the street went out,
|The last car trailed the night behind;
|And I in the darkness wandered about
|With a flutter of hope and of dark-shut doubt
|In the dying lamp of my love.
|Two brown ponies trotting slowly
|Stopped at a dim-lit trough to drink:
|The dark van drummed down the distance slowly;
|While the city stars so dim and holy
|Drew nearer to search through the streets.
|A hastening car swept shameful past,
|I saw her hid in the shadow,
|I saw her step to the curb, and fast
|Run to the silent door, where last
|I had stood with my hand uplifted.
|She clung to the door in her haste to enter,
|Entered, and quickly cast
|It shut behind her, leaving the street aghast.