I walk so often, late, along the streets,
Lower my gaze, and hurry, full of dread,
Suddenly, silently, you still might rise
And I would have to gaze on all your grief
With my own eyes,
While you demand your happiness, that's dead.
I know, you walk beyond me, every night,
With a coy footfall, in a wretched dress
And walk for money, looking miserable!
Your shoes gather God knows what ugly mess,
The wind plays in your hair with lewd delight---
You walk, and walk, and find no home at all.

Added: Feb 20 2003 | Viewed: 1510 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Hermann Hesse
Poem: I Know, You Walk--
Volume: Poems
Year: Published/Written in 1899
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