For the one he loved in those feminine clothes,
And the hank of hair and the bit of bone
That had gone her way and left him alone,
For she had pride and she’d never forgive—
He never died—for he never did live;
He had bowed to the world, had been its tool—
Who was the wise man and who was the fool?
Alone
It’s queer how the seasons affect us sometimes,
And how incidents turn our attention to rhymes,