Page:The Book of the Homeless (New York, Charles Scribner's Sons, 1916).djvu/36



the Wind and as the Wind In a corner of the way, Goes stepping, stands twirling, Invisibly, comes whirling, Bows before and skips behind In a grave, an endless play—

So my Heart and so my Heart Following where your feet have gone, Stirs dust of old dreams there; He turns a toe; he gleams there, Treading you a dance apart. But you see not. You pass on.