XXVI
IN the placid summer midnight,Under the drowsy sky,I seem to hear in the stillnessThe moths go glimmering by.
One by one from the windowsThe lights have all been sped.Never a blind looks conscious—The street is asleep in bed!
But I come where a living casementLaughs luminous and wide;I hear the song of a pianoBreak in a sparkling tide;
And I feel, in the waltz that frolicsAnd warbles swift and clear,A sudden sense of shelterAnd friendliness and cheer …
A sense of tinkling glasses,Of love and laughter and light—The piano stops, and the windowStares blank out into the night.
The blind goes out, and I wanderTo the old, unfriendly sea,The lonelier for the memoryThat walks like a ghost with me.