Brother and sister stand together,
She with her flowers and he with his broom.
And the folks go on over London river,
Poor and wealthy, busy and wise,
Will nobody see those white lips quiver?
Will nobody stop for those pleading eyes?
The old bridge echoes the ceaseless thunder
Of crowds that gather and stream along,
And the stranger child shrinks back in wonder,
She cannot sing in that hurrying throng.