IF I should learn, in some quite casual way, 
 That you were gone, not to return again— 
Read from the back-page of a paper, say, 
 Held by a neighbor in a subway train, 
How at the corner of this avenue 
 And such a street (so are the papers filled) 
A hurrying man—who happened to be you— 
 At noon to-day had happened to be killed, 
I should not cry aloud—I could not cry 
 Aloud, or wring my hands in such a place— 
I should but watch the station lights rush by 
 With a more careful interest on my face, 
Or raise my eyes and read with greater care 
Where to store furs and how to treat the hair.