Good Hours

I had for my winter evening walk-- No one at all with whom to talk, But I had the cottages in a row Up to their shining eyes in snow.

And I thought I had the folk within: I had the sound of a violin; I had a glimpse through curtain laces Of youthful forms and youthful faces.

I had such company outward bound. I went till there were no cottages found. I turned and repented, but coming back I saw no window but that was black.

Over the snow my creaking feet Disturbed the slumbering village street Like profanation, by your leave, At ten o’clock of a winter eve.