A dumb soul and its confidante
Entombed together in the dark.
The hoarse church-bells of London ring,
The hoarser horns of London croak,
The poor brown lives of London cling
About the poor brown streets like smoke;
The deep air stands above my roof,
Like water to the floating stars;
My Friend and I—we sit aloof,
We sit and smile, and bind our scars.