Others come, some wan and haggard, heavy-lined and weary-eyed;
Some with faces flushed and fevered, hearts aflame and hands fast tied.
Others stand with frozen heart-strings, bitter, haughty, desolate;
Some creep past in shame, fresh quivering from some thrust of scorn or hate.
In they throng, all seeking respite from the cruel world's maddening call,
Seeking peace in the dim silence, shadowed by the massive wall.
Other voices, sweet and child-like, linger in the dusky vault,
Cries of babes and tiny maidens, sweet since free from conscious fault,
Here they gather, brown and rosy, golden-haired and crowned with jet,
Glowing cheeks and eyes that dance, where innocence and joy are met.