A little black man ran through the city.
He extinguished the lanterns, climbing the stairs.
Slow and white, dawn was approaching,
With the strange little man climbing the stairs.
Where quiet, soft shadows brooded over the town,
Where the yellow strips of the lanterns were sleeping,
Morning twilight upon the steps lay down,
Into the curtains, into the door-shadows creeping.
Oh, how poor is the city with dawn at her windows lying!
Crouching outside, the little black man is crying.