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The Thoroughfare of Souls.
The wind that cleaves an open road
Through endless plains of air;
This is the thoroughfare of souls,
This is their viewless stair.

No footfalls echo as they pass,
Oh! soft as velvet shod;
No footprints lie to mark the way
These phantom feet have trod.

No cry of greeting or farewell
Thrills through these silent aisles;
No whispered words, no hushed adieux,
No sad nor welcoming smiles.

Yet thick and fast, they meet and puss
Unto their unseen goals;
It is a crowded pathway, this,
The thoroughfare of souls.

A glimmer, as of falling dew
Or snowflake, flickering white;
And in some household, far below,
A child is born to-night.