How empty seems the town now you are gone! A wilderness of sad streets, where gaunt walls Hide nothing to desire; sunshine falls Eery, distorted, as it long had shone On white, dead faces tombed in halls of stone. The whir of motors, stricken through with calls Of playing boys, floats up at intervals; But all these noises blur to one long moan. What quest is worth pursuing? And how strange That other men still go accustomed ways! I hate their interest in the things they do. A spectre-horde repeating without change An old routine. Alone I know the days Are still-born, and the world stopped, lacking you. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PARAGRAPHS: 16 by HAYDEN CARRUTH SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 4 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE VANISHERS by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER STANE STREET by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN A NEW PILGRIMAGE: 27 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT AN ISLAND by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |