Classic Poem

Some of the roofs are plum-color,
Some of the roofs are gray,
Some of the roofs are silverstone,
And some are made of clay;
But under every gabled close
There's a secret hid away.

Women I know are dressed in rags,
Women I know in lace,
And one in a dusky robe of gold
With a hooded cloak of mace;
But every robe and every rag
Is a secret hiding place.

There's a road of water, a road of stone
And a road of steel as well,
And whichever one you may choose goes up
To Heaven and down to Hell;
But a secret's hidden beneath the three
No living man dare tell.

Some day, a sifted heap of dust
May lay the secret bare
Of which was woman and which was roof
And which was a thoroughfare;
But you shall not tell the gray from the gold
Or the stone from the shining hair.