On the Doorstep

The rain imprinted the step's wet shine
With target-circles that quivered and crossed
As I was leaving this porch of mine;
When from within there swelled and paused
                   A song's sweet note;
And back I turned, and thought,
                   "Here I'll abide."

The step shines wet beneath the rain,
Which prints its circles as heretofore;
I watch them from the porch again,
But no song-notes within the door
                   Now call to me
To shun the dripping lea
                   And forth I stride.

   Jan. 1914.