Footsteps In The Street

Oh, will the footsteps never be done?                 The insolent feet                 Thronging the street,     Forsaken now of the only one.     The only one out of all the throng,                 Whose footfall I knew,                 And could tell it so true,     That I leapt to see as she passed along,     As she passed along with her beautiful face,                 Which knew full well                 Though it did not tell,     That I was there in the window-space.     Now my sense is never so clear.                 It cheats my heart,                 Making me start     A thousand times, when she is not near.     When she is not near, but so far away,                 I could not come                 To the place of her home,     Though I travelled and sought for a month and a day.     Do you wonder then if I wish the street                 Were grown with grass,                 And no foot might pass     Till she treads it again with her sacred feet?