As well as the soul of each passer-by.
Aweary at heart of the careless throng
He drifted and reveled with all too long;
He yearns for the stillness of field and hill,
For the melodic sound of a wild bird’s trill,
For the infinite heights of starry skies,
When the moon makes the world seem paradise.
But he ne’er returns, and up and down
He wanders—alone—in the crowded town.
