Over the tops of the houses Twilight and sunset meet. The green, diaphanous dusk Sinks to the eager street. Astray in the tangle of roofs Wanders a wind of June. The dial shines in the clock-tower Like the face of a strange-scrawled moon. The narrowing lines of the houses Palely begin to gleam, And the hurrying crowds fade softly Like an army in a dream. Above the vanishing faces A phantom train flares on With a voice that shakes the shadows, -- Diminishes, and is gone. And I walk with the journeying throng In such a solitude As where a lonely ocean Washes a lonely wood. |