Old Accustomed Impudent Ghost

That morning the dawn arose from the sodden grey city

pavements,

And it was a sick grey breath.

I had spent myself asking the night for sleep.

Broken in pieces I was-only the evil spirit was whole

in me;

There was a curse on my bitten bloody lips. . . .

And then...

Oh, then the old accustomed, impudent ghost came in:

He wore my bagged, ragged pants, and was unshaven;

And his face was the one I had seen in the mirror

Too many times.