Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

Ashes of Life

LOVE has gone and left me, and the days are all alike.

Eat I must, and sleep I will—and would that night were here!

But ah, to lie awake and hear the slow hours strike!

Would that it were day again, with twilight near!

Love has gone and left me, and I don’t know what to do;

This or that or what you will is all the same to me;

But all the things that I begin I leave before I’m through—

There’s little use in anything as far as I can see.

Love has gone and left me, and the neighbors knock and borrow,

And life goes on forever like the gnawing of a mouse.

And to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow

There’s this little street and this little house.