Six O'Clock in Princes Street

In twos and threes, they have not far to roam,

Crowds that thread eastward, gay of eyes;

Those seek no further than their quiet home,

Wives, walking westward, slow and wise.

Neither should I go fooling over clouds,

Following gleams unsafe, untrue,

And tiring after beauty through star-crowds,

Dared I go side by side with you;

Or be you in the gutter where you stand,

Pale rain-flawed phantom of the place,

With news of all the nations in your hand,

And all their sorrows in your face.