In my Spanish cloak,And old slouch hat,And overshoes of felt,And Tyke, my faithful dog,And my knotted hickory cane,I slipped about with a bull’s-eye lanternFrom door to door on the square,As the midnight stars wheeled round,And the bell in the steeple murmuredFrom the blowing of the wind;And the weary steps of old Doc HillSounded like one who walks in sleep,And a far-off rooster crew.And now another is watching Spoon RiverAs others watched before me.And here we lie, Doc Hill and IWhere none breaks through and steals,And no eye needs to guard.
Spoon River Anthology · Edgar Lee Masters