I
Highway, stretched along the sun,
Highway, thronged till day is done;
Where the drifting Face replaces
Wave on wave on wave of faces,
And you count them, one by one:
'Rich man—Poor man—Beggar man—Thief:
Doctor—Lawyer—Merchant—Chief.'
Is it soothsay?—Is it fun?
Young ones, like as wave and wave;
Old ones, like as grave and grave;
Tide on tide of human faces
With what human undertow!
Rich man, poor man, beggar-man, thief!—
Tell me of the eddying spaces,
Show me where the lost ones go;
Like and lost, as leaf and leaf.
What's your secret grim refrain
Back and forth and back again,
Once, and now, and always so?
Three days since, and who was Thief?
Three days more, and who'll be Chief?
Oh, is that beyond belief,
Doctor, Lawyer—Merchant-Chief?
(Down, like grass before the mowing;
On, like wind in its mad going:—
Wind and dust forever blowing.)
Highway, shrill with murderous pride,
Highway, of the swarming tide!
Why should my way lead me deeper?
I am not my Brother's keeper.