Sin, deadly Sin, Begin, the Fight to Win
Ye took me in; inn; inn;—and now a jolt
Returns me consciousness, and weary Logic
Gathers her snapped threads up. A mouldy inn
Offensive with cockchafers, sour and musty,
All night the signboard creaks and the blinds bang,
The cupboards groan, the draught under the door
Flurries the carpets of this inn, this inn.
How I came here? Where else could I be bettered?
Loneliness drew me here and cloudy weather