  'Tis a big, big place!— And the clouds that gather the grey skies in Are frayed by chimneys black and old, Serried stacks of grime and sin. And every road and every street Has a secret tale to guard and hold, Mid the echoing tones of passing feet. Oh weary place! Brimmed up with life, confused in sound, I have little part in your daily round, For I wander lonely—stranger bound. There are houses surely which open their door To those they know, For me they stand in a formal row Story on story, floor upon floor, Shielding themselves from the crimson sun, From the on-rolling mutter Of traffic and wagon, of footstep and cry, With curtain and shutter. Mute houses which shun All light, sound and me Inexorably. Sometimes when I toss on my pillow at night, When the spluttering rain I dream that those mansions relax their grim pride And opening wide Their intimate hearts to me, Chill taciturnity Melts in the warmth of rich colour and fire. Vast halls are alight With radiant desire To show hospitality. Lavish regality Squanders the staircase in flowers and green. And I wander unseen Through the great pillared corridors, kiss the soft red Of the shimmering hangings; the sensuous glow Ablaze in the hearth thrills me throughly, I know There is place for me there, in those homes I thought dead. But sleep's "Open, Sesame" Fails with the light, Forcing the hopes of me Back into night. Never to open, never to see Stern cold houses Closed to me! Gathering storms which smirch the sky, Burst your bonds, for up on high May I come in? I have no part in this world, no home, No love to hold me. Bid me come, I would warm myself at your great round sun, Your little stars and your crescent moon. I am tired and thin, I think I shall come and see you soon. May I come in, may I come in? |
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