She said, “I am aweary, aweary,

When will the great rush come?”

Upon the middle of the night

Waking she heard the cabs below;

Some gents sang out before ’twas light—

From Smithfield Bars the oxen’s low

Came to her in a fit of gloom,

In sleep she dreamt of beds forlorn,

Till carts and busses woke the morn

About the lonely furnished room.