THIS night has been so strange that it seemed br As if the hair stood up on my head. br From going-down of the sun I have dreamed br That women laughing, or timid or wild, br In rustle of lace or silken stuff, br Climbed up my creaking stair. They had read br All I had rhymed of that monstrous thing br Returned and yet unrequited love. br They stood in the door and stood between br My great wood lectern and the fire br Till I could hear their hearts beating: br One is a harlot, and one a child br That never looked upon man with desire. br And one, it may be, a queen.