Verses (Baughan)/Spring in London
SPRING IN LONDON
There’s one that calleth in the street,
Merry of voice, named Wickedness.
And many a man will push and grope
His way towards a sound so sweet.
—Later, the sense thereof no less,
He hears: “There is no Hope!”
One croucheth by, fordone with woe.
All know her—she is Suffering.
The winds wax clammy cold as Death,
While, shuddering, thro’ her rags they go.
Sharp her unsobbing voice doth ring:
“There is no Hope!” she saith.
Day after day, and night by night,
Upon me, sitting all alone,
Beats the double desperate cry.
Till champion Faith is put to flight,
And ’mid my fences overthrown,
“There's no Hope!” mutter I.
—So last night. . . . But to-day, to-day,
Each pool in the street is an eye of blue,
Buoyant with Spring is the smoky air,
And a girl sells daffodils, over the way.—
Why should not everything come new?
Thank God! Hope’s everywhere!