The houses here are half in shadow now
And seem but half in time. The empty street
Holds family secrets quietly below
Brick faces, and the city’s in retreat.
Great windows whisper tales of carriages,
Cigar and brandy haunted evenings,
Debuts, and long convenient marriages,
And dining tables laid with crystal things.
I’d like to stay. I’d like to watch the sun
Flash blackly from the rails. I’d like to hear
Old whisperings of peace. But I must run:
I’ve urgent business in another year.