Page:The town down the river; a book of poems.djvu/95

 A dreary, cold, unwholesome day, Racked overhead,— As if the world were turning the wrong way, And the sun dead:

A day that comes back well enough Now he is gone. What then? Has memory no other stuff To seize upon?

Wherever he may wander now In his despair, Would he be more contented in the slough If all were there?

And yet he brought a kind of light Into the room; And when he left, a tinge of something bright Survived the gloom.