There had been rain, the pavement glistened yet In a soft lamplight down the narrow street; The church was nigh at hand, a clear-toned clock Chimed slowly, open shops across the way Showed store of fruit, and store of bread,--and one Many caged birds. About were customers, I saw them bargain, and a rich high voice Was heard,--a woman sang, her little babe Slept 'neath her shawl, and by her side a boy Added wild notes and sweet to hers. Some passed Who gave her money. It was far from me To pity her, she was a part of that Admirèd town. E'en so within the shop A rosy girl, it may be ten years old, Quaint, grave. She helped her mother, deftly weighed The purple plums, black mulberries rich and ripe For boyish customers, and counted pence And dropped them in an apron that she wore. Methought a queen had ne'er so grand a lot, She knew it, she looked up at me, and smiled. But yet the song went on, and in a while The meaning came; the town was not enough To satisfy that singer, for a sigh With her wild music came. What wanted she? Whate'er she wanted wanted all. O how 'T was poignant, her rich voice; not like a bird's. Could she not dwell content and let them be, That they might take their pleasure in the town, For--no, she was not poor, witness the pence. I saw her boy and that small saleswoman; He wary, she with grave persuasive air, Till he came forth with filberts in his cap, And joined his mother, happy, triumphing. This was the town; and if you ask what else, I say good sooth that it was poetry Because it was the all, and something more,-- It was the life of man, it was the world That made addition to the watching heart, First conscious its own beating, first aware How, beating it kept time with all the race; Nay, 't was a consciousness far down and dim Of a Great Father watching too. But lo! the rich lamenting voice again; She sang not for herself; it was a song For me, for I had seen the town and knew, Yearning I knew the town was not enough.