If a lad's but a lad in the heart of a town,|
Is it mad he has grown, or a dunce or a clown,
When he crowns common sights with delights of his own?
He thought he saw ships at the end of the street
With songs that the wind taught the sails to repeat.
But washlines have nothing like ships on their feet.
He thought he saw figures and faces you miss
Coming back to embracing no more than a kiss.
Can the rain that leaves puddles be peopled with this?
He thought he heard bells where the clouds break in two,
With a tone quite as low and clear as it's blue.
But what he heard there not a cloud ever knew.
He thought he touched fingers belonging to kings,
And the crowns and the sceptcrs came tumbling in rings.
But all he felt there is how poverty sings.