I Was Sitting, She Was Knitting, And The Portraits Of Our Fore-Folk Hung Around; When There Struck On Us A Sigh; "Ah - What Is That?" Said I: "Was It Not You?" Said She. "A Sigh Did Sound." I Had Not Breathed It, Nor The Night-Wind Heaved It, And How It Came To Us We Could Not Guess; And We Looked Up At Each Face Framed And Glazed There In Its Place, Still Hearkening; But Thenceforth Was Silentness. Half In Dreaming, "Then Its Meaning," Said We, "Must Be Surely This; That They Repine That We Should Be The Last Of Stocks Once Unsurpassed, And Unable To Keep Up Their Sturdy Line." 1916.