There is nobody on the road
       &nbsp But I,
And no beseeming abode
       &nbsp I can try
For shelter, so abroad
       &nbsp I must lie.

The stars feel not far up,
       &nbsp And to be
The lights by which I sup
       &nbsp Glimmeringly,
Set out in a hollow cup
       &nbsp Over me.

They wag as though they were
       &nbsp Panting for joy
Where they shine, above all care,
       &nbsp And annoy,
And demons of despair -
       &nbsp Life’s alloy.

Sometimes outside the fence
       &nbsp Feet swing past,
Clock-like, and then go hence,
       &nbsp Till at last
There is a silence, dense,
       &nbsp Deep, and vast.
A wanderer, witch-drawn
       &nbsp To and fro,
To-morrow, at the dawn,
       &nbsp On I go,
And where I rest anon
       &nbsp Do not know!

Yet it’s meet - this bed of hay
       &nbsp And roofless plight;
For there’s a house of clay,
       &nbsp My own, quite,
To roof me soon, all day
       &nbsp And all night.