Poetry Archives

He laughed again.  What boyish uncontrol
To be so racked.  Then felt his ticking watch.
In half an hour Grootver would know the whole.
And he would be returned, lifting the latch
Of his own gate, eager to take Christine
And crush her to his lips.  How bear delay?
He broke into a run.  In front, a line
Of candle-light banded the cobbled street.
Hilverdink’s tavern!  Not for many a day
Had he been there to take his old, accustomed seat.