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by Sarah Teasdale In the city's broken roar, Faces that I lose so soon And have 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? |
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