Grey Hours Naples

There are some hours when I seem so indifferent; all things

To an indifferent greyness, like that grey of the sky;

Always at evening-ends, on grey days; and I know not why,

But life, and art, and love, and death, are the shade of a shade.

Then, in those hours,

I hear old voices murmur aloud,

And memory forgoes desire, too weary at heart for regret;

Dreams come with beckoning fingers, and I forget to forget;

The world as a cloud drifts by, or I drift by as a cloud.