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29
STREET MUSIC
The city's labour, in lumbering throes,
On the other side of my garden-wall,
Like the pant of an engine, fell and rose;
And my mind ran faster than facile pen
Could follow it over the paper, when
I suddenly heard an old, old tune,
And lived again in that month of June,
And again I saw it all.
My nostrils greeted the scent of the hay
In fields where the pollards drew down rain,
Where low in the hollow the cattle lay
Chewing the cud, and flicking the flies,
With lazy content in their dreamy eyes,
Unstreaked by thoughtful pain.
The white-walled cottage with moss-grown thatch,
