| Poems by Women |
IN CITY STREETS
Yonder in the heather there's a bed for
sleeping,
Drink for one athirst, ripe blackberries to eat;
Yonder in the
sun the merry hares go leaping,
And the pool is clear for travel-wearied
feet.
Sorely throb my feet, a-tramping London highways,
(Ah! the springy moss
upon a northern moor!)
Through the endless streets, the gloomy squares and
byways,
Homeless in the City, poor among the poor!
London streets are gold - ah, give me leaves a-glinting
'Midst gray dykes
and hedges in the autumn sun!
London water's wine, poured out for all
unstinting -
God! For the little brooks that tumble as they run!
Oh, my heart is fain to hear the soft wind blowing,
Soughing through the
fir-tops up on northern fells!
Oh, my eye's an ache to see the brown burns
flowing
Through the peaty soil and tinkling heather-bells.
From: Stevenson, Burton Egbert.
The Home Book of Verse.
This poet:
[Author index]
This collection assembled by Jone Johnson Lewis.
Collection © 1999-2002 Jone Johnson Lewis.
Citing poems from these pages:
| Author. "Poem Title." Women's History: Poems by Women. Jone Johnson Lewis, editor. URL: (date of logon) |
