Is it not pleasant to wander In town on Saturday night, While people go hither or thither, And shops shed cheerful light? And, arm in arm, while our shadows Chase us along the panes, Are we not quite as cosy As down among country lanes? Nobody knows us, heeds us, Nobody hears or sees, And the shop-lights gleam more gladly Than the moon on hedges and trees; And people coming and going, All upon ends of their own, Though they work a spell on the spirit, Move it more finely alone. The sound seems harmless and pleasant As the murmur of brook and wind; The shops with the fruit and the pictures Have sweetness to suit my mind; And nobody knows us, heeds us, And our loving none reproves,-- I, the poor figure-painter! You, the lady he loves! And what if the world should scorn you, For now and again, as you do, Assuming a country kirtle, And bonnet of straw thereto, Or the robe of a vestal virgin, Or a nun's grey gabardine, And keeping a brother and sister By standing and looking divine? And what if the world, moreover, Should silently pass me by, Beeause, at the dawn of the struggle I labour some stories high! Why, there's comfort in waiting, working, And feeling one's heart beat right,-- And rambling alone, love-making, In London on Saturday might. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IMPRESSION by EDMUND WILLIAM GOSSE DEAD COW FARM by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES SAME COTTAGE - BUT ANOTHER SONG, OF ANOTHER SEASON by HENRY MAXIMILIAN BEERBOHM ON THE NEW YEAR by JANE BOWDLER A COMMON CASE by GAMALIEL BRADFORD EPITAPH ON WEE JOHNNY (HIS PUBLISHER) by ROBERT BURNS FREEDOM IN MAH SOUL by DAVID WADSWORTH CANNON JR. TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 2. SQUINANCY-WORT by EDWARD CARPENTER |