From a window above the street, the speaker watches people pass — some moving slowly and tiredly, some driven by ambition, some searching for inspiration, some just hoping for rest. Calling out to “you and you,” she makes each stranger momentarily personal, even as they blur into one crowd. She wonders where they are all heading in the stream of time. Though each person seems to have a different motive, they keep coming and going in an endless, unchanging parade. She asks whether dreamers and exhausted souls travel different roads, or whether everyone is bound to the same path. The answer she senses is quiet but uneasy: individual footsteps lose their separateness and merge into a single, impersonal sound, like the steady beat of the sea. The mood is reflective and slightly melancholic, as the speaker feels both connected to and distant from the crowd below.
Passers-by — Summary
You — and you. Passer-by — and you; You, languid feet, and you, wild to climb, Seeking your respite or star-rimmed view. Where do you go down the streets of Time?
Never the same, yet ever the same — You and you, hurrying, slow. Crowding the way with your motley claim Of life, always you come and go.
You, stung with purpose. You, driven by Blindly before Creation's sweep. Are there ways for the searchers of stars on high? And other ways for the seekers of sleep?
Or only one way for all to run? ... Only one sound drifts up to me, The blend of every tread in one. Impersonal as the beat of the sea.