Over the tops of the houses 
 Twilight and sunset meet. 
 The green, diaphanous dusk 
 Sinks to the eager street. 

 Astray in the tangle of roofs 
 Wanders a wind of June. 
 The dial shines in the clock-tower 
 Like the face of a strange-scrawled moon. 

 The narrowing lines of the houses 
 Palely begin to gleam, 
 And the hurrying crowds fade softly 
 Like an army in a dream. 

 Above the vanishing faces 
 A phantom train flares on 
 With a voice that shakes the shadows, -- 
 Diminishes, and is gone. 

 And I walk with the journeying throng 
 In such a solitude 
 As where a lonely ocean 
 Washes a lonely wood.