Good Hours


    I HAD for my winter evening walk—
    No one at all with whom to talk,
    But I had the cottages in a row
    Up to their shining eyes in snow.
    And I thought I had the folk within:
    I had the sound of a violin;
    I had a glimpse through curtain laces
    Of youthful forms and youthful faces.
    I had such company outward bound.
    I went till there were no cottages found.
    I turned and repented, but coming back
    I saw no window but that was black.
    Over the snow my creaking feet
    Disturbed the slumbering village street
    Like profanation, by your leave,
    At ten o'clock of a winter eve.


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