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James Whitcomb Riley - The Quiet Lodger
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The man that rooms next door to me:
      Two weeks ago, this very night,
  He took possession quietly,
    As any other lodger might--
      But why the room next mine should so
      Attract him I was vexed to know,--
      Because his quietude, in fine,
      Was far superior to mine.

  "Now, I like quiet, truth to tell,
    A tranquil life is sweet to me--
  But _this_," I sneered, "suits me too well.--
    He shuts his door so noiselessly,
      And glides about so very mute,
      In each mysterious pursuit,
      His silence is oppressive, and
      Too deep for me to understand."

  Sometimes, forgetting book or pen,
    I`ve found my head in breathless poise
  Lifted, and dropped in shame again,
    Hearing some alien ghost of noise--
      Some smothered sound that seemed to be
      A trunk-lid dropped unguardedly,
      Or the crisp writhings of some quire
      Of manuscript thrust in the fire.

  Then I have climbed, and closed in vain
    My transom, opening in the hall;
  Or close against the window-pane
    Have pressed my fevered face,--but all
      The day or night without held not
      A sight or sound or counter-thought
      To set my mind one instant free
      Of this man`s silent mastery.

  And often I have paced the floor
    With muttering anger, far at night,
  Hearing, and cursing, o`er and o`er,
    The muffled noises, and the light
      And tireless movements of this guest
      Whose silence raged above my rest
      Hoarser than howling storms at sea--
      The man that rooms next door to me.

  But twice or thrice, upon the stair,
    I`ve seen his face--most strangely wan,--
  Each time upon me unaware
    He came--smooth`d past me, and was gone.
      So like a whisper he went by,
      I listened after, ear and eye,
      Nor could my chafing fancy tell
      The meaning of one syllable.

  Last night I caught him, face to face,--
    He entering his room, and I
  Glaring from mine: He paused a space
    And met my scowl all shrinkingly,
      But with full gentleness:  The key
      Turned in his door--and I could see
      It tremblingly withdrawn and put
      Inside, and then--the door was shut.

  Then silence.  _Silence_!--why, last night
    The silence was tumultuous,
  And thundered on till broad daylight;--
    O never has it stunned me thus!--
      It rolls, and moans, and mumbles yet.--
      Ah, God! how loud may silence get
      When man mocks at a brother man
      Who answers but as silence can!

  The silence grew, and grew, and grew,
    Till at high noon to-day `twas heard
  Throughout the house; and men flocked through
    The echoing halls, with faces blurred
      With pallor, gloom, and fear, and awe,
      And shuddering at what they saw--
      The quiet lodger, as he lay
      Stark of the life he cast away.

       *     *     *     *     *

  So strange to-night--those voices there,
    Where all so quiet was before;
  They say the face has not a care
    Nor sorrow in it any more--
      His latest scrawl:--"Forgive me--You
      Who prayed, `they know not what they do!`"
      My tears wilt never let me see
      This man that rooms next door to me!
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