COME out . . . . out
To this inevitable night of mine
Oh you drinker of new wine,
The warm fire.
The comfortable chairs.
The merry companions.
HERE in the figured dark I watch once more;
There with the curtain rolls a year away,
A year of years — There was an idle day
WE leave to-night . . .
Silent, we filled the still, deserted street,
A column of dim gray,
Death slays the moon and the long dark deepens,
Hastens to the city, to the drear stone-heaps,
Films all eyes and whispers on the corners,
WATCHING through the long, dim hours
Like statued Mithras, stand ironic towers;
Their haughty lines severe by light