One who watched saw how a window-square

Could mean inside,

And all that means to one who also sees,

Empty of stars, and wide,

The sky, alone the shadowy roof and trees.

And one who listened heard the little house

Breathe in a half-sleep,

Creak - and wait;

Counted the tick of our old clock

That urged, "Late - Late -"

heard something, call it wind,

Question and open door,

And then the woodfire humming as it burned,

Then stillness as before.

Heard, hand lifted on a page unturned,

As one who listens may,

On the hard road beyond the grass,

Footsteps go away.