The roads also have their wistful rest, <br />When the weathercocks perch still and roost, <br />And the looks of men turn kind to clocks <br />And the trams go empty to their drome. <br />The streets also dream their dream. <br /> <br />The old houses muse of the old days <br />And their fond trees leaning on them doze. <br />On their steps chatter and clatter stops <br />For the cries of other times hold men <br />And they hear the unknown moan. <br /> <br />They remember alien ardours and far futures <br />And the smiles not seen in happy features. <br />Their begetters call them from the gutters; <br />In the gardens unborn child-souls wail, <br />And the dead scribble on walls. <br /> <br />Though their own child cry for them in tears, <br />Women weep but hear no sound upstairs. <br />They believe in love they had not lived <br />And passion past the reach of stairs <br />To the world's towers or stars.<br /><br />Wilfred Owen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-roads-also/
