I SAID, "I am so tired of all the old tired faces
In the crowded places,
I tire of all the weary steps that cross and beat
Down the long swift street:"
I said, "I will return into my own still room,
Thick with peace and gloom."
I said, "I will summon up the still bright streams
Of my trooping dreams,
Whose faces are as weariless and calm and young
As a bird-note sung,
Who drift along with sunset-colored robes outblowing,
Of all need unknowing."
And then . . . the sun shone cloudless, and the wind blew fleet
Down the long swift street
And through the windowed canyon's end the sky's sweet blue
Shone unwearied through,
And I said, "But I must stay, for see, my brother's faces
Here in God's own places!"
