In The Cathedral ’twas. The service o’er
Friends introduced us, passed, and said no more,
And we were left alone, strangers as yet.
A sad monastic gloom on you was set.
I sensed your thirst for life, more life, yet more—
And I, too, was athirst because I wore
The slave’s badge that so sharply helps to whet.
I went not home. I loathed the narrow streets.
I longed for country lanes, deep peace of air.
I left the black-roofed city, hastened where