There are wolves in the next room
With heads bent low, thrust out,
At nothing in the dark; between them and meA white door patched with light from the
Where it seems never (so still is the house)A man has walked from the front door to the stair.
It has all been forever.
Beasts claw the floor.
I^have brooded on angels and
But no man has ever sat where the next
Crowded with wolves, and for the honor of manI affirm that never have I before.
Now whileI have looked for the evening star at a cold
And whistled when Arcturus spilt his light,
I've heard the wolves scuffle, and said:
So
Is man; so-what better conclusion is there-The day will not follow night, and the
Of man has a little dignity, but less
Than a wolf's, and a duller sense that
Smell its own mortality. (This and
Meditations will be suited to other
After dog silence howls his epitaph.)Now remember courage, go to the door,
Open it and see whether coiled on the
Or cringing by the wall, a savage
Maybe with golden hair, with deep
Like a bearded spider on a sunlit
Will snarl-and man can never be alone.
