Singing in this London street
To the rhythm of their feet,
By a window’s feeble light
Are two ragged children bright—
Larger sparrows of the town,
Nested ’mong the vapours brown.
Far away the starry mirth
Hangs o’er all the wooded earth.
If these merry ones should know,
Footing in the feeble glow,
Of a wide wood’s leafy leisure,
Would they foot so fleet a measure?
Ah no!
Maybe now in some far lane,
Dancing on the moon’s broad stain,
Watched of placid poplar trees,
Children sing in twos and threes.
Hush! hush! hush! on every lip
Lies a chubby finger-tip,
As there floats from fields afar
Clamour of the lone nightjar.
If these merry ones should know,
Footing in the feeble glow,
Other people’s mirth and pleasure,
Would they foot so fleet a measure?
Ah no!
Maybe in some isle of isles,
In the south seas’ azure miles,
Dance the savage children small,
Singing to their light footfall.
Hush! hush! hush! they pause and point
Where a shell, the seas anoint,
Dropping liquid rainbow light,
Rolls along the sea-sands white.
If these merry ones should know,
Footing in the feeble glow,
Other people’s mirth and pleasure,
Would they foot so fleet a measure?
Ah no!
Maybe now a Bedouin’s brood
Laughing goes in wildest mood,
Past the spears and palm-stems dry,
Past the camel’s dreaming eye.
Hush! hush! hush! they pause them where
Bows the Bedouin’s whitening hair—
Peace of youth and peace of age,
Thoughtless joys and sorrows sage.
If these merry ones should know,
Footing in the feeble glow,
Other people’s mirth and pleasure,
Would they foot so fleet a measure?
Ah no!
Others know the healing earth,
Others know the starry mirth;
They will wrap them in the shroud,
Sorrow-worn, yet placid browed.
London streets have heritage
Blinder sorrows, harder wage—
Sordid sorrows of the mart,
Sorrows sapping brain and heart.
If these merry ones should know,
Footing in the feeble glow,
All the healing earth may treasure,
Would they foot so fleet a measure?
Ah no!