In the Spring on the pavements of the city The little children play marbles and laugh and shout, Their laughter is drowned by the city all about; But they laugh back regardless of the city And clap their hands and shout. In the sunlight fading from the alleys, The braided hair, and the short hair are bowed Over a few soiled marbles; a watching crowd Circles them in the noisy, dusty alleys, Where the close heads are bowed. From the river in the distance flowing The whistles murmur,—the tired souls of men Call to each other over the waters again, Over the river in the sunlight flowing Answer the souls of men. When lamps in the street-ways glimmer, Along the rooves the sky still burns with day,— A little group watches them where they play. And in the distance the long waters glimmer With the receding day. |