Streets, and Other Verses by Douglas Goldring

This great grey city that bred me and mine—
Supreme, mysterious, dirty and divine—
Is made up all of contrast, light and gloom.
It has green hills and parks where flowers bloom;
And shadowed pathways where young lips are shy
And warm hands tangle while the night slips by;
Deserts of humble brick, resigned and drear;
And crowded taverns, full of noise and beer;
Thronged streets where jostle theatre and hotel,
And stately terraces where rich folk dwell….
It has black alleys, and most dismal plains
Crossed by long, steady, fire-emitting trains;
Foul slums and palaces, prisons and spires
And suburbs where the jaundiced clerk expires.