Where his sure feet pass The crowds are strangely thinned -- They are the furrowed grass And he is the wind. Many go with the thought Of their footfall's little beat, Wearing their own lives caught Like shackles on their feet. But he is disinterested In feet and their fevered way; There is motive in his tread That was not shaped from clay. Thresholds may make him small, But the wind is in his feet -- Dominant, impersonal -- As he walks upon a street. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CATARINA TO CAMOENS by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING TO HIS MISTRESS OBJECTING TO HIM NEITHER TOYING OR TALKING by ROBERT HERRICK MEMORIAL TO D.C.: 2. PRAYER TO PERSEPHONE by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY AGE IN YOUTH by TRUMBULL STICKNEY EROTION by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE A SWEET NOSEGAY: AUTHOR MAKETH HER WILL & TESTAMENT: A COMMUNICATION . by ISABELLA WHITNEY |