I stood one night where rivers pause to meet And mingle in the traffic-rumbling sea: The surge and clamour of a London street, In tides alternate, rolled, impassively. Before my feet Ran shouting boys, and through the pallid glare Loomed gaunt leviathans that swayed and roared Past glittering shops, and stations which outpoured Load after weary load; and everywhere Strange sounds, a snatch of laughter, shout or word, Sleek-coated motor-cars that softly purred Round corners sounding with the rustling beat Of hurried swarms of feet. And yet I seemed alone, and dumb-amazed Before a towering building, wherein blazed One staring patch of light, one amber square That shone enshrouded by the dome of night High in the naked air. And still I gazed Until a shadow passed across the blind: A shadow-woman pacing time away Beside a bed, wherein a poet lay Dying, dying. One whose mind (A womb of beauty whereof love was lord) Had fashioned symphonies of thought and word Impassionately sweet. And suddenly She paused--I saw the shadow of her hand Stretch out and shudder back. I saw her stand All sorrow-bound in graven dignity. She bowed her head, her shoulders taut with pain, Her figure burdened with the weight of tears. Then all grew dark. And in my waking ears The traffic surged again. EVERYCHILD We take you through Pacific seas To islands strange and new, Where howling monkeys scale the trees Alive with humming-birds and bees, Where shiny seals and porpoises Snort in the rolling blue. Then quicker than a shaft of light We shear the arctic foam, And lounging bears of polar white Roar loudly through the dancing night, And drive the killer-whales to flight-- Upon the floor at home. O hear the chant of Eastern song Beneath Arabian stars, Where camels slowly stalk along And gleaming Arabs, tall and strong, Buy gold and merchandise among The riot of bazaars! The glow-worms crawl excitedly And trim their lamps o’ night; For often, ere the moon is high, Bat-harnessed walnut-shells flit by To bear them to the waiting sky And set the stars alight. The nodding poplars understand And birds and beasts and flowers: And we shall wander hand in hand With better things than Peter Panned-- O what is footlight fairyland Beside this world of ours? What matter if the clouds are grey Or winter-keen and wild, When you and I have found a way To turn November into May; For Everyjoy is Everyday And Everyman a child. CHILD OF THE FLOWING TIDE