Faces

People that I meet and pass
In the city’s broken roar,
Faces that I lose so soon
And never found before,

Do you know how much you tell
In the meeting of our eyes,
How ashamed I am, and sad
To have pierced your poor disguise?

Secrets rushing without sound
Crying from your hiding places —
Let me go, I cannot bear
The sorrow of the passing faces.

— People in the restless street,
Can it be, oh, can it be
In the meeting of our eyes
That you know as much of me?

Sara Teasdale

From the collection, On City Streets with poems selected by Nancy Larrick…original Bantam Pathfinder Edition paperback (© 1969) and photo rescued at estate sale…

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