Page:Anthology of Magazine Verse (1921).djvu/84

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STAIRWAYS
Why do I think of stairwaysWith a rush of hurt surprise?—Wistful as forgotten loveIn remembered eyes,And fitful as the flutterOf little draughts of airThat linger on a stairwayAs though they loved it there.
New and shining stairways,Stairways worn and old—Where rooms are prison placesAnd corridors are cold—You intrigue with fancy,You challenge with a loreElusive as a moon's lightShadowing a floor.
You speak to me not onlyWith the lure of storied art—For wonder of old footstepsLies lightly on my heart;More than the reminiscenceOf yesterday's renown—Laughter that might have floated up,Echoes that should drift down!


THE GRAY VEIL
Life flings weariness over meLike a thick gray veil; I seeThrough its mesh where suns are cold,Nights are ancient and dawns are old.

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