In Sarum Close, when she had said her say,
He stood bare-headed where dim vapours lay
Heavy on vacant lawn, athwart the stone
Of that great pile that stands unsought, alone,—
Himself as still and derelict as they.
Here, when morn’s gleaming hand had rolled away
From the green plot of this their week-old play
Her misty curtain, each to each was shown,
In Sarum Close.
Void the discoloured fane before him lay,
Void the dark-sodded precincts,—far away
One closed a window, night’s appeal had grown
Perchance too urgent, even as his own
Had seemed to her whose friendship did with day
In Sarum close.