In twos and threes, they have not far to roam, <br />Crowds that thread eastward, gay of eyes; <br />Those seek no further than their quiet home, <br />Wives, walking westward, slow and wise. <br /> <br />Neither should I go fooling over clouds, <br />Following gleams unsafe, untrue, <br />And tiring after beauty through star-crowds, <br />Dared I go side by side with you; <br /> <br />Or be you in the gutter where you stand, <br />Pale rain-flawed phantom of the place, <br />With news of all the nations in your hand, <br />And all their sorrows in your face.<br /><br />Wilfred Owen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/six-o-clock-in-princes-street/
