As like never will.

 I would every soul had a screen,

 When the wind sets ill

 In the world’s bleak house, like this

 Strange lodger of mine.

 His presence is worse to miss

 Than sun’s best shine.

 I put no thought at all

 Upon the end,

 If only I may call

 Such a man friend.

 And a friend he is, heart light

 With love for heft,

 Proud as silence, whose right

 Hand ignores his left.

 Yes, odd! he gives his name

 As Spiritus.

65

 But that is vague as a flame

 In the wind to us.

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