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.