THE TOWNSMAN

Here would I leave some subtle part of me,

A moving presence through the friendly Town,

Abiding still, and happy still to be

Where thoughtful men pass daily up and down;—

An essence stirring on the ways they fare,

Haunting the drifted sunlight where they go,

Till one might mark a Something on the air,

Most near and kind — though why, he would not know.

Happy, if it may chance, where two shall meet,

Pausing to pass the friendly, idle word,

In the hushed twilight of the evening street,

I might stand by, a secret, silent Third,—

Most happy listener, if I hear them tell

How, with the Town — and them — it still is well.