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Come down the road and do not speak.

You cannot know how strange it is

To walk upon a grey firm road again,

To feel the noiseless waves of air break on one's flesh.

You do not speak, you do not look at me;

Just walk in silence on the grey firm road

Guessing my mood by instinct, not by thought—

For there is no weapon of tongue or glance

So keen that it can stir my apathy,

Can stab that bitterness to hope,

Can pierce the humour to despair.

Silence fits the mood then—silence and you.

The trees beside the road—can you interpret

These fragments of leaf-music,

Here a phrase, here a sort of melody

That dies to silence or is broken

By a full rustling that is discord?

Can you interpret such a simple thing?

Can I interpret this blank apathy,

This humourous bitterness?

Lean on the bridge now—do not speak—

And watch the coloured water slipping past,

While I struggle with myself,

Confront half-impulses, half-desires,

Grapple with lusterless definitions,