By Luis G. Dato
A cruelty and tumult fill the cities,
They roar with gasping breath,
And thunder beats upon the pavement,
Thunder that came from death.
The stranger’s heart at even-tide is lonely,
But weary must he roam,
As down the desert-lands of treason,
Faith roams in quest of home.
Love is a weary, sad-eyed stranger, singing,
In the cruel lanes of art,
A weariness in quest of its woman,
A youth in search of its heart.
