In an Old Street
The twilight gathers here like brooding thought,
Haunting each shadowed dooryard and its door,
With gone, forgotten beauty that was wrought
Of hands and hearts that come this way no more.
Here an intenser quiet stills the air
With old remembering of what is not:
Of silver slippers gone from every stair,
And silver laughter long and long forgot.
Deeper and deeper where this dusk is drifted,
Gathers a sense of waiting through the night,
About old doors whose latch is never lifted,
And dusty windows vacant of a light...
Deeper and deeper, till the grey turns blue,
And one by one the patient stars peer through.