IN A CAB

Rain — and the lights of the city,

Blurred by the mist on the pane.

A thing without passion or pity —

This is the rain.

It beats on the roof with derision,

It howls at the doors of the cab —

Phantoms go by in a vision,

Distorted and drab.

Torpor and dreariness greet me;

All of the things I abhor

Rise to confront and defeat me,

As I ride to your door...

At last you have come; you have banished

The gloom of each rain-haunted street —

The tawdry surroundings have vanished;

The evening is sweet.

Now the whole city is dreamlike;

The rain plays the lightest of tunes;

The lamps through the mist make it seem like

A city of moons.

No longer my fancies run riot;

I hold the most magic of charms —

You smile at me, warm and unquiet,

Here in my arms.

I do not wonder or witness

Whether it rains or is fair;

I only can think of your sweetness,

And the scent of your hair.

I am deaf to the clatter and drumming,

And life is a thing to ignore...

Alas, my beloved, we are coming

Once more to your door!...

You have gone; it is listless and lonely;

The evening is empty again;

The world is a blank — there is only

The desolate rain.