When up the fretful, creaking stair, From floor to floor I creep On tiptoe, lest I wake from their first beauty-sleep The unknown lodgers lying, layer on layer, In the packed house from roof to basement Behind each landing's unseen door; The well-known steps are strangely steep, And the old stairway seems to soar, For my amazement Hung in air, Flight on flight Through pitchy night, Evermore and evermore. And when at last I stand outside My garret-door I hardly dare To open it, Lest, when I fling it wide, With candle lit And reading in my only chair, I find myself already there... And so must crawl back down the sheer black pit Of hell's own stair, Past lodgers sleeping layer on layer, To seek a home I know not where. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN THE TRENCHES by ISAAC ROSENBERG HYMN TO ADVERSITY by THOMAS GRAY CREPUSCULE DU MATIN; SONNET by AMY LOWELL RETURNING, WE HEAR THE LARKS by ISAAC ROSENBERG THE FLIGHT OF LOVE by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY AT ONE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE |