Where should I go but up the stair
To the welcome I knew was waiting there?
But all was dark, as only can be
A long deserted nursery;
And never a sound to succor me.
VI
So I turned to a room where a woman slept
In a gay gold bed, and near I crept,
And lingered and listened—oh anguished morn,
Oh fluty cry of a babe new-born,