Eastward the buzzing tram-ear dips
Adown Commercial Road,
Till you may see the masts of ships,
With all their canvas stowed,
Stand o'er the house-tops, high
Against blue sky;
And thus Romance doth stray,
Mid work-a-day.
O drabbest of all penny fares!
Yet may you catch a glimpse
Of little dusty courts and squares
Where little dusty imps
Play by the plane-trees there,
Squalid, un-fair—
If these a child or tree
Could ever be.
The trams they go with hoot and lurch
Long miles, through glare and grime,
With here and there a dim cool church
Wide open all the time;
Where on this lovely day
Folk stop to pray
That wars, at length, may cease
And we have peace.