Page:Maud, and other poems.djvu/106

86 Pass, thou deathlike type of pain, Pass and cease to move about, 'Tis the blot upon the brain That will show itself without.

Then I rise, the eavedrops fall, And the yellow vapours choke The great city sounding wide; The day comes, a dull red ball Wrapt in drifts of lurid smoke On the misty river-tide.

Thro' the hubbub of the market I steal, a wasted frame, It crosses here, it crosses there, Thro' all that crowd confused and loud,