AT CHARING-CROSS

Alone amid the Rockies I have stood;

Alone across the prairie's midnight calm

Full often I have fared

And faced the hushed infinity of night;

Alone I have hung poised

Between a quietly heaving sea

And quieter sky,

Aching with isolation absolute;

And in Death's Valley I have walked alone

And sought in vain for some appeasing sign

Of life or movement,

While over-desolate my heart called out

For some befriending face

Or some assuaging voice!

But never on my soul has weighed

Such loneliness as this,

As here amid the seething London tides

I look upon these ghosts that come and go,

These swarming restless souls innumerable,

Who through their million-footed dirge of unconcern

Must know and nurse the thought of kindred ghosts

As lonely as themselves,

Or else go mad with it!