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570

I could die—to know—
'Tis a trifling knowledge—
News-Boys salute the Door—
Carts—joggle by—
Morning's bold face—stares in the window—
Were but mine—the Charter of the least Fly—

Houses hunch the House
With their Brick Shoulders—
Coals—from a Rolling Load—rattle—how—near—
To the very Square—His foot is passing—
Possibly, this moment—
While I—dream—Here—

Added: 2 Sep 2002 | Last Read: 7 Jun 2025 5:42 PM | Viewed: 7673 times

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