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?