I hear the feet below
In the dark street;
They hurry and shuffle by,
And go, on errands bitter or sweet,
Whither I cannot know.
A bird troubles the night
From the green plane
And in my breast again
Vague memories of delight
Arise from the spirit's night,
And pass into it again
And the hurrying restless feet
Below
On errands I cannot know,
Like a great tide ebb and flow.