I GO singing a song under my breath, Down through the gloom of grey where the street lamps glow. The beat of my feet, like the pulse of life in death, Is light and low. I go singing a song for myself alone, Down where the people press and do not hear; If word they had heard, it would be in a tongue unknown And strange to the ear. I go humming a tune that is dark and brief; The words are light and they neither shout nor shine; For each has a speech new-made to tell of his grief, And this is mine. |