Faces that throng and stare and come and go—
The air a-quiver as the voices meet;
And loud Humanity in mingled flow
Passes with jarring tread of many feet.
But over all the chatter of the crowd
(The background for its delicate relief)
Now trembling in a thread, now wild and loud,
The violin laughs and sings, and cries its grief.
Then, through it all, and round it all, the sea;
A solemn heart with never-ceasing beat,
Bearing an undertone of mystery
The harsh and lovely notes, the shrill and sweet.
Surely it is my life—of plodding days,
With one Ideal holding clear and good;
And sounding over, under, through my ways,
Something apart—and never understood.