I climbed the other day up to the roof
Of the commanding and palatial Home for Asiatics
And looked across the city at the hour of no-light.
Across great space of dark I looked,
But the skirt of darkness had a hundred rents,
Made by the lights of many people’s homes.
My life is a great skirt of darkness,
But human kindliness has torn it through,
So that it shows ten thousand gaping rents
Where the light comes in.