December 1899 br I br She sits in the tawny vapour br That the Thames-side lanes have uprolled, br Behind whose webby fold-on-fold br Like a waning taper br The street-lamp glimmers cold. br br A messenger's knock cracks smartly, br Flashed news in her hand br Of meaning it dazes to understand br Though shaped so shortly: br He-he has fallen-in the far South Land… br br II br br 'Tis the morrow; the fog hangs thicker, br The postman nears and goes: br A letter is brought whose lines disclose br By the firelight flicker br His hand, whom the worm now knows: br br Fresh-firm-penned in highest feather- br Page-full of his hoped return, br And of home-planned jaunts of brake and burn br In the summer weather, br And of new love that they would learn.