The Thoroughfare of Souls.
225
A grim shade, foul with memories,
Room for the leper. Room!
And through the shrinking lines it fares
Naked, unto its doom.
Room for the leper. Room!
And through the shrinking lines it fares
Naked, unto its doom.
The warm earth lieth underneath,
Men toil and smile, or weep;
And ever these dim multitudes,
Their shadowy limits keep.
Men toil and smile, or weep;
And ever these dim multitudes,
Their shadowy limits keep.
Along the azure paths they crowd—
A tide that ebbs and flows;
But who, or whence, or whither? Ah!
The wind, perchance, it knows.
A tide that ebbs and flows;
But who, or whence, or whither? Ah!
The wind, perchance, it knows.
The wind is all the voice they have.
It shrills, or moans, or sighs;
And breathes their messages to us,
Yet carries no replies.
It shrills, or moans, or sighs;
And breathes their messages to us,
Yet carries no replies.
You'll hear them whisper when, at dusk,
A shiver shakes the trees;
Then listen! never think 'tis but
The murmur of a breeze.
A shiver shakes the trees;
Then listen! never think 'tis but
The murmur of a breeze.
