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And she does n't hover round old cupboards and

shelves

As old people do who have buried themselves;

She has no late lamps, and she digs all day
And polishes and plants in a common way,
But glum she is, and she listens now and then
For a footfall, a footfall, a footfall again,
And whether it's hope, or whether it's dread,
Or a poor old fancy in her head,

I shall never be told; it will never be said.

JOHN DRINKWATER