page: 117
HAUNTED STREETS.
- LO, haply walking in some clattering street—
- Where throngs of men and women dumbly pass,
- Like shifting pictures seen within a glass
- Which leave no trace behind—one seems to meet,
- In roads once trodden by our mutual feet,
- A face projected from that shadowy mass
- Of faces, quite familiar as it was,
- Which beaming on us stands out clear and sweet.
- The face of faces we again behold
- That lit our life when life was very fair,
- And leaps our heart toward eyes and mouth and hair:
- Oblivious of the undying love grown cold,
- Or body sheeted in the churchyard mould,
- We stretch out yearning hands and grasp—the air.
