M. Lowey

You said: “I’ll go to another land, to other seaways wandering,
Some other town may yet be found better than this,
Where every effort of mine is a writ of guiltiness;
And my heart seems buried like a corpse. My mind---
How long is it to be in this decay confined?
Wherever I turn, wherever I lift my eyes,
The blackening ruins of my life arise,
here I have spent so many years spoiling and swquandering.”

“You’ll find no other places, no new seas in all your wanderings,
The town will follow you about. You’ll range
In the same streets. In the same suburbs change
From youth to age; inn this same house grow white.
No hope of another town; this is where you’ll always alight.
There is no road to another, there is no ship
To take you there. As here in this small strip
You spoiled your life, the whole earth felt your squanderings.”