I HEARD a sound of crying in the lane,
A passionless, low crying,
And I said, 'It is the tears of the brown rain
On the leaves within the lane!'

I heard a sudden sighing at the door,
A soft, persuasive sighing,
And I said, 'The summer breeze has sighed before,
Gustily, outside the door!'

Yet from the place I fled, nor came again,
With my heart beating, beating!
For I knew 'twas not the breeze nor the brown rain
At the door and in the lane!