Who would pity these who pass:
Many whose blood time has made thin,
These who are too frail to sin?
Who would pity these who pass
Gently through the sun to find
Nothing there to heat the mind?
To them night comes unstrange and deep,
To them the dew on darkened grass
Smells only of the dusk of sleep.

And who would pity these who pass:
Many whose firm veins run with fire,
To whom life is unshaped desire?
Who would pity these who pass
With the insinuating sun
Moving against their flesh? Not one
But in his hunger fully lives,
But, thirsting, drinks from the gilded glass
Of life, as much as living gives.
Who would pity these who pass?