Josephine Preston Peabody,
The Singing Man: A Book of Songs and Shadows
“ Highway, shrill with murderous pride, Highway, of the swarming tide! Why should my way lead me deeper? I am not my Brother's keeper.II Byway, ambushed with the dark, Byway, where the ears may hark; Live and fierce when day is done, You, that do without the Sun:— What's this game you bring to nought?— Muttering like a thing distraught, Reckoning like a simpleton? (Since the hearing must be brief,— Living or a dying thief!) ”
