Page:Poems (IA poemstennalfr00tennrich).pdf/169

 His face is growing sharp and thin. Alack! our friend is gone. Close up his eyes: tie up his chin: Step from the corpse, and let him in That standeth there alone, ⁠And waiteth at the door. ⁠There's a new foot on the floor, my friend, ⁠And a new face at the door, my friend, ⁠A new face at the door.