Where streamlets are stealing—
All are floating, this moment, or mournfully heard,
(Distinct as lutes mid trumpets) round thy cage, heart-breaking Bird!
They heed, nor hear—that seething mass—
But storm and brawl and burst along,
Porter and Peer—the City class—
And high-born Beauty shrined in glass—
The pale Mechanic and his lass—
Thick as the scythe-awaiting grass,
In one discordant throng.