The word comes true at midnight, late,

I've waited all the day to learn.

The house lies quiet, nearly dark,

As toward the narrow stair I turn,

And climb the steep and spiral steps

That reach in rapture toward the brain.

The morning's promise will be kept,

Its meaning stand surprised and plain.

The stair is dark, but groping slow

I find the dumb familiar way.

Here light should come. The Voice should say,

Come nearer,", and the shadows rouse, -

But here I left the light below

Is darkness now, and through the house

A subtle silence drifts like smoke.

I listen long outside the door,

Half wondering what I came there for,

And turn away; and will not weep;

But sad and blind along the walls,

Go down the curving stair to sleep.