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Arthur Henry Adams - Bayswater.W.
Work rating: Low

About me leagues of houses lie, 
Above me, grim and straight and high, 
They climb; the terraces lean up 
Like long grey reefs against the sky. 

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 . . . God! 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 hoardings 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 passes 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!
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