OHOW the dance-tune trips it through the street, Making steps rhythmic, blood the lustier beat! Throwing a thought of love and holiday Into the midst of Trade's most prosy way. Look yonder: it is but an aged crone Crouched in a corner, wrinkled and alone, Half-dazed, who feebly grinds an organ small, Craving scant pence and sun -- and that is all. As soon I'd think to hear a gargoyle sing, A death-mask speak a lyric word of spring, As yonder hag fill all the drowsy air With music making Life alert and fair. * * * * * * * * * Yet hark, again the strain, the waltz-tune glad, The sudden rapture, the abandon mad, From a bleared woman, sick and old and sad! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DONG WITH A LUMINOUS NOSE by EDWARD LEAR THE HERITAGE by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL THE LADY POVERTY by ALICE MEYNELL ON THE NEW FORCES OF CONSCIENCE UNDER THE LONG PARLIAMENT by JOHN MILTON THE BELLE OF THE BALL by WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED SONNET: 65 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE |