The Quiet Lodger.

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!