Such tired, hopeless angles of the knees
And neck and elbows—and the dawning grey
Trembling to sunrise; in the park the trees
Begin to shiver lightly in a breeze,
And turning watchful kindly eyes away
The policeman passes slowly on his beat.
SPRING IN OXFORD STREET
A dash of rain on the pavement,
In the air a gleam of sun,
And the clouds are white, and rolling high
From Marble Arch all down the sky
—And that's the spring begun!
The sky is all a-shining
With sunniest blue and white,
The flags are streaming out full cry
As the crisp North wind comes bustling by,
And all the roofs are bright.
And all the shops and houses
Of sunlit Oxford Street,
—Pearl behind amber, gold by rose—
To grey the long perspective goes;
Till all the houses meet.
And there, in every gutter,
The glory of spring flowers
The whole long street with colour fills,
And across the yellow daffodils
Sharp sunshine and soft showers.
And among the drabs and greys and browns
Of folk going to and fro
Are trays of violets, darkly bright,
And yellow, like the spring moon's light,
Pale primrose-bunches show.
There's blue in every puddle,
And every pane of glass
Has a thousand little dancing suns,
—And up and down the glad news runs,
That spring has come to pass.