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SPRING IN LONDON
Day after day, and night by night,
Upon me, sitting all alone,
Beats the double desperate cry.
Till champion Faith is put to flight,
And ’mid my fences overthrown,
“There's no Hope!” mutter I.
—So last night. . . . But to-day, to-day,
Each pool in the street is an eye of blue,
Buoyant with Spring is the smoky air,
And a girl sells daffodils, over the way.—
Why should not everything come new?
Thank God! Hope’s everywhere!
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