Little wistful shades, when dusk was nearing, Flitted in the streets of Hemlock Town. Saw you not, among the leafy shadows, Breeze-stirred pinafores of beechen brown? By closed shutters of the fanlight doorways Fond they lingered, faintly listening yet Only to the click of ancient needles And the rustle of an old Gazette; Vainly harkening for a sound of frolic In the silent Square and stately Green; Vaguely seeking, in our long prim gardens, Little boys and girls where none were seen; -- Till what time the Poles and Finns and Syrians, Following the mills, came thronging down, And with patriarchal troops of children Waked the spellbound streets of Hemlock Town. Many little hob shoes danced and clattered, Earrings tinkled, and the dusky braid Nodded to the songs the Caesars' children Sang, and games that Pharaoh's daughter played. Then the little ghosts, in noiseless scamper Fleeing up the south wind, homeward hied To their nursery of low green pillows On the walled hill's morning-fronting side; Laying down their shadowy heads contented, Shed upon the drowsing wind their deep, Low last murmur of fulfilled desire, Sunk in dreams, and smiling in their sleep. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IMITATION OF POPE: A COMPLIMENT TO THE LADIES by WILLIAM BLAKE THE SWORD AND THE SICKLE by WILLIAM BLAKE DESERT FLOWERS by KEITH CASTELLAINE DOUGLAS DOWN THE MISSISSIPPI: 1. EMBARKATION by JOHN GOULD FLETCHER I AM THE PEOPLE, THE MOB by CARL SANDBURG |