Alone in London. (Dizain.)
Reading edition
HE dust blows through the empty street, The low skies gather grim and gray, The raindrops on the windows beat This cold and cheerless August day. And all my friends are far away Across the moors or by the sea, But I must linger, woe is me! Since cruel fortune so doth choose Then, friends who read the Referee, Forgive me if I get the blues.
