A thousand housetops under the dome
And every house is one man's home,
With love and quarrel and truth and sin.
I should find if I walked therein
Under the eaves of every house
Secrets, laughter and sullen brows,
And bitter battles and comrades kind
And the love of a woman I should find
[Every anger] and hope there comes,
In any home of a thousand homes.

And strangest yet, find them in the press
Who say that the world is emptiness.