LXXII. SHADOWS IN THE STREETS.
I
Through the rush of the roaring city
I roam by night or day,
With memories sad or pleasant
Companions of my way.
I mix with the crowd of people
And following where they tread,
I watch them trample and jostle,
And fight with hand or head,
In the still recurring battle
For gold or daily bread.
II
I pass the populous houses
In terrace or street or square,
I hear the rattle of chariots
And the sounds of life on the air;
And up at the curtained windows
Where the flaring gaslights glow,
I see 'mid the flitting shadows
Of the guests that come and go,
The paler and dimmer shadows
Of the ghosts of the Long Ago.
III
Here died a patriot statesman
High-priest of Freedom's cause,
And here a mighty poet
Who shaped a nation's laws:
Here flourished Wit and Beauty
And Learning, wide of ken,
And here a world's great teacher,
The lightnings of whose pen
Laid bare the hidden secrets
Too vast for common men.
IV
And all the busy houses
By these no longer trod
Seem to my gaze like tombstones
Inscribed to them and God.
Their memories float around me,
And shed o'er many a spot,
Made dark by the blinding Present
That heeds or knows them not,
The haze of their bygone glories
Death-veiled,—but unforgot.
