And behind it lay the end of a dream;
Behind it lifted barren walls,
And I thought of a play when the curtain falls
On a comedy written of shrouds and palls.
XV
Hungry Heart, Hungry Heart, what did you then?
I fell on my knees and I cried, Amen!
But now and again—now and again—
I come to the door in the dead of night,
I wander the rooms till the panes are white;