My footfalls in the unlighted hall,
Reverberate from an unseen wall;
Whether from length or maybe breadth,
For now they linger, evading death;
Brought on by darkened things unknown,
That swallow them ‘till they have gone.
It’s good, I think, that they die down,
Lest when the next one comes around;
It find no time to call its own,
Or chance to sound its sharpest tone,
Be muddled by the one before
And indistinct come its report.
Missionary Sojourn 