A TREMULOUS word, a lingering hand, the burning
Of restless passion smoldering--so we part;
Ah, slowly from the dark the world is turning
When midnight stars shine in a heavy heart.

The streets are lighted, and the myriad faces
Move through the gaslight, and the homesick feet
Pass by me, homeless; sweet and close embraces
Charm many a threshold--laughs and kisses sweet.

From great hotels the stranger throng is streaming,
The hurrying wheels in many a street are loud;
Within the depot, in the gaslight gleaming,
A glare of faces, stands the waiting crowd.

The whistle screams; the wheels are fumbling slowly,
The path before us glides into the light:
Behind, the city sinks in silence wholly;
The panting engine leaps into the night.

I seem to see each street a mystery growing,
In mist of dreamland--vague, forgotten air:
Does no sweet soul, awakened, feel me going?
Loves no dear heart, in dreams, to keep me there?