Сара Тисдейл (Sara Teasdale)

Faces

  People that I meet and pass
   In the city's broken roar,
  Faces that I lose so soon
   And have never found before,

  Do you know how much you tell
   In the meeting of our eyes,
  How ashamed I am, and sad
   To have pierced your poor disguise?

  Secrets rushing without sound
   Crying from your hiding places—
  Let me go, I cannot bear
   The sorrow of the passing faces.

  —People in the restless street,
   Can it be, oh can it be
  In the meeting of our eyes
   That you know as much of me?