Classic Poem

He is companioned secretly
When, with meditative feet,
He passes down an idle street.

A slow and misted company
Disputes his solitude. Ahead,
Like figures in a pageant, tread
All his tomorrows with eyes that peer
Over the near horizon's rim.
He cannot hear above the dim
Sound of their feet; he cannot clear
His thought from the restricting gaze
Fastened upon him from behind,
Where follows the gracelessly resigned
Figures of his yesterdays.