I came from other labor, other times, And other houses, half a fugitive Till then round earth. I sought a place to live, After my needs: a table for my rhymes And books, a bed for sleep, for human sleep, A friendly household, that would let me roam Its grass and porches, like a man at home -- Yet yield (O prose of life!) its roof-tree cheap. I wandered, hunting, many a pleasant lane And highway under elms in arching rows, And many a brick-paved court, with saplings set And lilacs, rang at many doors in vain, Whose housewives smiled . . . until, toward day's bright close, I spied a placard: "Attic room to let." |