Classic Poem

We wondered, even while we jested
On tramps grown reticent and aloof,
Why he so urgently requested
The naked room beneath the roof.

True, there were gulfs of emerald distance
Beyond the window. But the heat
Throbbed with an anvil's iron insistence
And night was sly with rodent feet.

He merely shrugged aside our warning.
" Don't bother; I shan't mind, " he said.
We understood, too late, next morning,
How little he minded. He was dead.

When there's no cure in tears or laughter
Any room will serve man's use
If there be only beam or rafter
Round which to fix the noose.