Solitude

Now empty lies the house. The languid air

Unstirred by voices creeps from room to room;

No footstep falls upon the silent stair,

All's still and dark. In every nook the tomb

Of some thought lies; remembrance everywhere

Lingers to seek a joy no longer there;

And, as I sit here lonely in the gloom,

I ask myself which evil I would choose:

Never to have, or else to have, and lose.