In the agreeable public gardens of Poplar The bushes are bright with buds, For this is the season of Clear Weather. There blossom the quiet flowers of this country: The timid lilac, The unassuming hawthorn, The dignified chestnut, And the girlish laburnum; And the mandarin of them all is the rhododendron. In the untilled field of my heart Many simple buds are bursting. There is a little bush of kindliness towards all men. There is a slender tree of forgiveness for all wrongs. There is a humble growth of repentance for past sins. And around the field is a thick hedge of thankfulness. And Ho! in the midst of all Stands the tree of a hundred boughs Laden with the sweetest of all buds Which are breaking to flower under the sun of a maiden's eyes. Parent and Child Often of an evening I take the air And linger on the bridge by the Isle of Dogs, And sometimes see The swan-like shape of the ship that brought me hither. Often since then that ship has gone To the land from which it brought me; And on each voyage my heart accompanies it. Should I some day in person journey with it, My honourable father would welcome his little son. He would not see this worn and tattered one, This lean and sorrowful son of the waterside. He would not see this parchment face, This figure without lustre. He would see his little son who left him long ago; For love would brush away the husk of years, And leave a little child. Of Worship and Conduct At the corner of the Causeway on every seventh evening Gathers the band of Salvation Army, Making big noise of Washed-in-Blood-of-Lamb. At temple in East India Dock Road Men gather in white clothes, and sing, And march with candles and pray to Lady. At shop in Pennyfields, many times a day, This person pays respect to Big Man Joss, And burns to him prayer-papers and punk-sticks. And all day long men toil for wife and child; Wife suffer and stint to make bigger plate for child; Child beg in street to get food for sick mother; Sister wear ragged clothes for sake of little brother. And none of these has bowed to Joss, Or marched with candle, Or washed in blood of Lamb. Going to Market Good morning, Mister, how do you do? I am going to Salmon Lane, to the cheap market for dainty foods. Won't you come with me, Mister? I shall buy meat and fish and a loaf of bread, And fresh fruit and potatoes; I shall buy a cluster of flowers and a bottle of wine, Some butter and some jam, And biscuits, and nuts and candy. For I give an English feast to-night to a friend with yellow curls, And every dish will be cooked by me.