Chapter 3 No.3

Who'd have guessed it from his lip

Or his brow's accustomed bearing,

On the night he thus took ship

Or started landward?-little caring

For us, it seems, who supped together

(Friends of his too, I remember)

And walked home thro' the merry weather,

The snowiest in all December.

I left his arm that night myself

For what's-his-name's, the new prose-poet

Who wrote the book there, on the shelf-

How, forsooth, was I to know it

If Waring meant to glide away

Like a ghost at break of day?

Never looked he half so gay!