WHEN you have tidied all things for the night, <br />And while your thoughts are fading to their sleep, <br />You'll pause a moment in the late firelight, <br />Too sorrowful to weep. <br /> <br />The large and gentle furniture has stood <br />In sympathetic silence all the day <br />With that old kindness of domestic wood; <br />Nevertheless the haunted room will say: <br />'Someone must be away.' <br /> <br />The little dog rolls over half awake, <br />Stretches his paws, yawns, looking up at you, <br />Wags his tail very slightly for your sake, <br />That you may feel he is unhappy too. <br /> <br />A distant engine whistles, or the floor <br />Creaks, or the wandering night-wind bangs a door <br /> <br />Silence is scattered like a broken glass. <br />The minutes prick their ears and run about, <br />Then one by one subside again and pass <br />Sedately in, monotonously out. <br /> <br />You bend your head and wipe away a tear. <br />Solitude walks one heavy step more near.<br /><br />Harold Monro<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/solitude-141/
