If all the carts were painted gay,
And all the streets swept clean,
And all the children came to play
By hollyhocks, with green
Grasses to grow between,
If all the houses looked as though
Some heart were in their stones,
If all the people that we know
Were dressed in scarlet gowns,
With feathers in their crowns,
I think this gaiety would make
A spiritual land.
I think that holiness would take
This laughter by the hand,
Till both should understand.
THE CITY
A shining city, one
Happy in snow and sun,
And singing in the rain
A paradisal strain....
Here is a dream to keep,
O Builders, from your sleep.
O foolish Builders, wake,
Take your trowels, take
The poet’s dream, and build
The city song has willed,
That every stone may sing
And all your roads may ring
With happy wayfaring.
TO THE DEFILERS
Go, thieves, and take your riches, creep
To corners out of honest sight;
We shall not be so poor to keep
One thought of envy or despite.