An Old Street

The Past walks here, noiseless, unasked, alone;
Knockers are silent, and beside each stone
Grass peers, unharmed by lagging steps and slow
That with the dark and dawn pass to and fro.

The Past walks here, unseen forevermore,
Save by some heart who, in her half-closed door,
Looks forth and hears the great pulse beat afar,—
The hum and thrill and all the sounds that are,
And listening remembers, half in fear,
As a forgotten tune reëchoes near,
Or from some lilac bush a breath blows sweet
Through the unanswering dusk, the voiceless street,—
Looks forth and sighs,—with candle held above,—
"It is too late for laughter,—or for love."