Classic Poem

You—and you, Passer-by—and you;
You, languid feet, and you, wild to climb,
Seeking your respite or star-rimmed view,
Where do you go down the streets of Time?

Never the same, yet ever the same—
You and you, hurrying, slow,
Crowding the way with your motley claim
Of life, always you come and go.

You, stung with purpose. You, driven by
Blindly before Creation's sweep.
Are there ways for the searchers of stars on high?
And other ways for the seekers of sleep?

Or only one way for all to run?…
Only one sound drifts up to me,
The blend of every tread in one,
Impersonal as the beat of the sea.