The rain imprinted the step’s wet shine

With target-circles that quivered and crossed

As I was leaving this porch of mine;

When from within there swelled and paused

      A song’s sweet note;

   And back I turned, and thought,

      “Here I’ll abide.”

The step shines wet beneath the rain,

Which prints its circles as heretofore;

I watch them from the porch again,

But no song-notes within the door

      Now call to me

   To shun the dripping lea

      And forth I stride.

Jan. 1914.