INTO the exit-ways the winter air Surges in tides as bracing as the brine, It swirls around the carriages in line And plays upon the plumes that women wear; This is the grim, old grinding world of care, How hard its lamps upon the pavement shine! Fate fashioned it no fairy-land divine Such as we saw beyond the footlight's flare, But it has joy no world of dreams can give. Hark to the horses hammering down the street! List to the murmur where the many meet! These are the lips of life demonstrative, Here are the human hearts which really beat, And here the place where dreams and dramas live. |