Classic Poem

The shop in which he worked was on the tenth floor. After six o'clock he heard the neighboring shops closing, the windows and iron shutters closed.
At last there was only a light here and there.
These, too, were gone. He was alone.
He went to the stairs.
Suppose he leaned over the railing.
What was to hold him back from plunging down the stairwell?
Upon the railway platform a low railing was fencing off a drop to the street — a man could step over.
When the train came to the bridge and the housetops sank and sank, his heart began to pound and he caught his breath:
he had but to throw himself through the open window or walk to the train platform, no one would suspect, and jerk back the little gate.
He would have to ride so to and from work. His home was on the third floor, the shop on the tenth. He would have to pass windows and the stairwell always.