Oh, will the footsteps never be done? <br />The insolent feet <br />Thronging the street, <br />Forsaken now of the only one. <br /> <br />The only one out of all the throng, <br />Whose footfall I knew, <br />And could tell it so true, <br />That I leapt to see as she passed along, <br /> <br />As she passed along with her beautiful face, <br />Which knew full well <br />Though it did not tell, <br />That I was there in the window-space. <br /> <br />Now my sense is never so clear. <br />It cheats my heart, <br />Making me start <br />A thousand times, when she is not near. <br /> <br />When she is not near, but so far away, <br />I could not come <br />To the place of her home, <br />Though I travelled and sought for a month and a day. <br /> <br />Do you wonder then if I wish the street <br />Were grown with grass, <br />And no foot might pass <br />Till she treads it again with her sacred feet?<br /><br />Robert Fuller Murray<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/footsteps-in-the-street/
