Of those who knew me best, some turned aside,
And scudded down dark lanes; one man did place
His finger on his nose’s side, and jeered;
Others in horrid mockery laughed outright;
Yea, dogs, deceived by instinct’s dubious ray,
Fixing their swart glare on my ragged hat,
Mistook me for a beggar, and they barked.
Thus women, men, friends, strangers, lovers, dogs,
One thought pervaded all—it was my hat.
A change, it was the last, came o’er this hat,