The Wolves

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.