  FACES that throng and stare and come and go— The air a-quiver as the voices meet; And loud Humanity in mingled flow Passes with jarring tread of many feet. But over all the chatter of the crowd (The background for its delicate relief) Now trembling in a thread, now wild and loud, The violin laughs and sings, and cries its grief. Then, through it all, and round it all, the sea; A solemn heart with never-ceasing beat, Bearing an undertone of mystery The harsh and lovely notes, the shrill and sweet. Surely it is my life—of plodding days, With one Ideal holding clear and good; And sounding over, under, through my ways, Something apart—and never understood. |
|
