Waring

What's become of Waring Since he gave us all the slip, Chose land-travel or seafaring, Boots and chest or staff and scrip, Rather than pace up and down Any longer London town? Who'd have guessed it from his lip Or his brow's accustomed bearing, On the night he thus took ship Or started landward? --little caring For us, it seems, who supped together (Friends of his too, I remember) And walked home thro' the merry weather, The snowiest in all December.…