Packed tier on tier the people dwell; Each narrow, hollow wall is full; And in that hive of honeycomb, Remote and high, I have one cell.

And when I turn into my street I hear in murmurous retreat A tide of noises flowing out -- The city ebbing from my feet!

And lo! two long straight walls between, There dwells a little park serene, Where blackened trees and railings hem A little handkerchief of green!

Yet I can see across the roof The sun, the stars and ... G.o.d! For proof -- Between the twisting chimney-pots A pointing finger, old, aloof!

The traffic that the city rends Within my quiet haven ends In a deep murmur, or across My pool a gentle ripple sends.

A chime upon the silence drab Paints music; hooting motors stab The pleasant peace; and, far and faint, The jangling lyric of the cab!

And when I wander, proud and free, Through my domain, unceasingly The endless pageant of the shops Marches along the street with me.

About me ever blossoming Like rich parterres the h.o.a.rdings fling An opulence of hue, and make Within my garden endless Spring.

The droning tram-cars spitting light: And like great bees in drunken flight Burly and laden deep with bloom, The 'busses lumbering home at night!

Sometimes an afternoon will fling New meaning on each sombre thing, And low upon the level roofs The sultry sun lies smouldering.

Sometimes the fog -- that faery girl -- Her veil of wonder will unfurl, And crescent gaunt and looming flat Are sudden mysteries of pearl!

New miracles the wet streets show; On stems of flame the gas-lamps glow.

I walk upon the wave and see Another London drowned below!

And when night comes strange jewels strew The winding streets I wander through: Like pearls upon a woman's throat The street-lamps' swerving avenue!

In every face that pa.s.ses mine Unfathomed epics I divine: Each figure on the pavement is A vial of untasted wine!

Through lands enchanted wandering, To all a splendour seems to cling.

Lo! from a window-beacon high Hope still the Night is questioning!

And so, ere sleep, I lie and mark Romance's stealthy footsteps. Hark!

The rhythm of the horse's hoof Bears some new drama through the dark!

So in this tall and narrow street I lie as in Death's lone retreat And hear, loud in the pulse of Life, Eternity upon me beat!

Bond Street

Its glittering emptiness it brings -- This little lane of useless things.

Here peering envy arm in arm With ennui takes her saunterings.

Here fretful boredom, to appease The nagging of her long disease, Comes day by day to dabble in This foamy sea of fripperies.

The languid women driven through Their wearied lives, and in their view, Patient about the bakers' shops, The languid children, two and two!

The champing horses standing still, Whose veins with life's impatience thrill; And -- dead beside the carriage door -- The footman, masked and immobile!

And bloated pugs -- those epicures Of darkened boudoirs ... and of sewers -- Lolling high on their cushioned thrones Blink feebly on their dainty wooers!

And in the blossoming window-shows Each month another summer glows; They pay the price of human souls To rear one rich and sickly rose.

And a suave carven G.o.d of jade, By some enthralled old Asian made, With that thin scorn still on his lips, Waits, in a window-front displayed:

The hurrying, streaming crowds he sees.

With the same smile he watches these As from his temple-dusk he saw The pa.s.sing of the centuries!

Ethel Turner.

A Trembling Star

"There is my little trembling star," she said.

I looked; once more The tender sea had put the sun to bed, And heaven's floor Was grey.

And nowhere yet in all that young night sky Was any star, But one that hung above the sea. Not high, Nor very far Away.

"I watch it every night," she said, and crept Within my arm.

"Soft little star, I wish the angels kept It safe from harm Alway.

"I know it is afraid," she said; her eyes Held a sweet tear.

"They send it all alone into the skies, No big stars near, To stay.

"They push it out before the sweet, kind moon Lights up the sea.

They laugh because it fears the dark. `Soon, soon, You'll braver be,'

They say.

"One night I climbed far up that high white tree Beside the beach, And tried to stretch my hand across the sea And tried to reach The grey.

"For something made me feel my heart would break Unless that night I in my hand my trembling star could take And kiss its fright Away.

"There only blew a strange wind chillily, And clouds were swept.

The angels would not let my own star see That someone wept.

I pray

"To Christ, who hears my little prayers each night, That He will seek Through all His skies for that sweet, frightened light, And stoop His cheek And say

"`My angels must not send so frail a thing To light the West.

Lift up the little trembling star to cling About my breast Alway.'"