January, Monday 11, 1864
Like a weary actor in a play,
Like a phantom in a dream,
Like a lost boat left to stray
Rudderless adown the stream—
This is what my life has grown,—
Since thy false heart left me lone,—
And I wonder sometimes when the laugh is loud,
And I wonder at the faces of the crowd,
And the strange fantastic measures that they tread,—
Till I think at last, till I half believe I an dead.