WITHIN the sad, deserted street, We stand a little space to gaze, Beneath the high-walled garden's shade, Amid the twilight's growing haze The still depths of the dark canal, Between gray walls of ancient stone, Stir not to any wind that blows, And seem so silent, so alone, We wonder at the lazy swans That o'er the water dare to glide, And marvel at the lads who cast Their pebbles from the bridge's side. Quaint houses bound the darksome wave, Time-tinted, yellow, umber, gray, With gaping gargoyles overhead, And underneath sweet gardens gay, With ivy, flung like cloaks of green Upon the worn and mottled wall; Forgotten centuries ago By burgher dames at even-fall. Across the narrow space of flowers, A maid in scarlet petticoat Comes with the shining pail of brass, And bends above the moveless moat; And breaks her image with the pail, And scares the swans, and trips away, And leaves the stern, gray, sombre street To silence and the waning day. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...JOE HILL LISTENS TO THE PRAYING by KENNETH PATCHEN THE SEA-GRAVE by SARA TEASDALE THE YOUNG MYSTIC by LOUIS UNTERMEYER EPITAPH ON THE LADY MARY VILLIERS [OR VILLERS] (1) by THOMAS CAREW BETSY'S BATTLE FLAG by MINNA IRVING AN HYMN TO THE EVENING by PHILLIS WHEATLEY ON THE SALE BY AUCTION OF KEATS' LOVE LETTERS by OSCAR WILDE |