The Golden Darkness/The Homing Crowd at Twilight

THE HOMING CROWD AT TWILIGHT.

Dreamingly I wander through the crowd,
On either side of me people rush by,
A rain of faces, changing, swirling,
 Pouring toward me out of what sky?

A fluttering, lonely rain of faces,
 Hurrying, hurrying home to rest,
Pouring toward me and lost in my dreaming
 Like drops in the mother earth’s breast.

My dreams stir strangely—is this the way
 The mother earth feels in a shower?
O rushing rain of faces, out of you
 My loneliness grows like a flower!