Life returned with a cause—the way

Some strange chance once interrupted it.

Just as on that distant summer day,

I am standing in the same old street.

People are the same, and people’s worries,

And the sunset’s still a fireball,

Just the way death’s night once in a hurry

Nailed it to the ancient mansion’s wall.

Women, in the same cheap clothes attired,

Are still wearing down their shoes at night.

Afterwards, against the roofing iron

They are by the garrets crucified.

Here is one of them. She looks so weary

As she steps across the threshold, and

Rising from the basement, drab and dreary,

Walks across the courtyard on a slant.

And again I’m ready with excuses,

And again it’s all the same to me.

And the neighbour in the backyard pauses,

Then goes out of sight, and leaves us be.