They lie, the men who tell us in a loud decisive tone That want is here a stranger, and that misery's unknown; For where the nearest suburb and the city proper meet My window-sill is level with the faces in the street -- Drifting past, drifting past, To the beat of weary feet -- While I sorrow for the owners of those faces in the street.

…

…

…

 

>> 网页版功能未完善，完整内容，请使用微信小程序。