(Oh, equal sadness!) the pain of being young.
Truce, truce. . . . Once again he fled;—
All his life, it seemed, was a flight;—
Fled and found
Sanctuary in a cinema house.
Huge faces loomed and burst,
Like bubbles in a black wind.
He shut his eyes on them and in a little
Slept; slept, while the pictures
Passed and returned, passed once more and returned.