Under its smiling debonair.
Wait not, weep not, get you gone,
Better the stones to rest upon,
The wind and the rain for a roof secure,
Hyssop and tares for your nouriture:
These shall endure. These shall endure.
XIV
I got me gone. On stumbling feet
I reached the stair and I reached the street;
The door slammed to with an iron scream,