Explore "From One Who Stays" by Amy Lowell on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
How empty seems the town now you are gone! / A wilderness of sad streets, where gaunt walls / Hide nothing to desire; sunshine falls / Eery, distorted, as it long had shone / On white, dead faces tombed in halls of stone.
The whir of motors, stricken through with calls / Of playing boys, floats up at intervals; / But all these noises blur to one long moan.
What quest is worth pursuing? And how strange / That other men still go accustomed ways! / I hate their interest in the things they do.
A spectre-horde repeating without change / An old routine. Alone I know the days / Are still-born, and the world stopped, lacking you.