Page:Curtains - Hall.djvu/27

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FLOOR OF A ROOM

The walls and windows of my room,With stolid constancy Spreading checkered light or gloom, Belong to me. Of all my room the floor alone Is not my own.
Days, like armfuls of fresh flowers Slowly ... I scatter there; Yet for my offering of hours I may share Only the cold, disquiet rest Of a passing guest.
Always I must waive my rights To feet, who, strange and still, Press their claims on windy nights; And not until I come again, another ghost, Shall I be host.
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