I Had For My Winter Evening Walk No One At All With Whom To Talk, But I Had The Cottages In A Row Up To Their Shining Eyes In Snow. And I Thought I Had The Folk Within: I Had The Sound Of A Violin; I Had A Glimpse Through Curtain Laces Of Youthful Forms And Youthful Faces. I Had Such Company Outward Bound. I Went Till There Were No Cottages Found. I Turned And Repented, But Coming Back I Saw No Window But That Was Black. Over The Snow My Creaking Feet Disturbed The Slumbering Village Street Like Profanation, By Your Leave, At Ten O'Clock Of A Winter Eve.