Page:The town down the river; a book of poems.djvu/67

 But when were thoughts or wonderings
 * To ferret out the man within?

Why prate of what he seemed to be,
 * And all that he might not have been?

He clung to phantoms and to friends,
 * And never came to anything.

He left a wreath on Cubit's grave.
 * I say no more for Clavering.