Linger now with me, thou beauty,   On the sharp archaic shore. Surely 'tis a wastrel's duty   And the gods could ask no more. If you lingerest when I linger,   If thou tread'st the stones I tread, Thou wilt stay my spirit's hunger   And dispel the dreams I dread.	I have lingered in the cloisters   Of the Northern Wing at night, As the sky unclasped its oysters   On the midnight pearls of light. For the long remorsless shadows   Chilled me with exquisit fear, I have lingered in cold meadows   Through a month of rain, my dear.
	Come thou, love, my own, my Only,   Through the battlements of Groan; Lingering becomes so lonely   When one lingers on one's own.
		Come, my love, my sweet, my Only,   Through the parapets of Groan. Lingering can be very lonely   When one lingers on one's own.

	In the dark alcoves I have lingered   Conscious of dead dynasties. I have lingered in blue cellars   And in hollow trunks of trees. Many a traveller through moonlight   Passing by a winding stair Or a cold and crumbling archway   Has been shocked to see my there.	Will you come with me, and linger?   And discourse with me of those Secret things the mystic finger   Points to, but will not disclose? When I'm all alone my glory,   Always fades, because I find Being lonely drives the splendour   Of my vision from my mind.
	I have longed for thee, my Only,   Hark! the footsteps of the Groan! Lingering is so very lonely   When one lingers all alone.
		Come, oh come, my own! my Only!   Through the Gormenghast of Groan. Lingering has become so lonely   As I linger all alone!