Endlessly Passing

Endlessly passing, a million feet

Are going, coming, going again;

Their echo resounds on my weary brain

As ceaselessly noisy as summer rain

Upon the angry window pane;

All in a sort of rhythmic beat

That cries aloud of bitter defeat

And boasts without end of useless gain;

Trampling the spot where soft had lain

A flower you dropped upon the street.

Helen Rogers, The Freshman Scrapbook, May 1926