They are the little things That strike our pulses dumb; By-issues -- nothings -- light moth-wings, Gone almost ere they come. Caught in a crowded town, My nerves laid quivering-bare, To the floor of hell my soul sank down And howled its protest there. Bar-windows, Burlesque-signs, Raw hideousness displayed, And in unending lines The people ebbed and swayed. Foul refuse tinged the snow; Its taste was in my mouth. Discordant trolleys row on row Went East, West, North and South. Sudden some blessed chance -- O chance bringing gifts to all! -- Led me to cast a glance On a patch of ancient wall. And there an indecent sketch Limned by some laughing boy -- O lovely and obscene wretch! -- Swept from me all annoy. And the hideous iron place With its monstrous crowds and cars Was whirled into outer space And diffused among the stars. And alone by the fire with you I sat and read Rabelais -- Rue des Beaux Arts, mon loup! -- And my soul was once more gay. And the old great shades returned, And the large sweet thoughts flowed free, And my heart within me burned, And that town was nothing to me! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHEN THE SPEED COMES by ROBERT FROST A DIM DOORWAY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON MAGDALEN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON QUEST by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON RETROSPECTION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |