Hermann Hesse

i know you walk

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.

Translated by James Wright

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