XXXIII TRAFALGAR SQUARE

Have you not seen, emerging from the Strand On warm-breathed evenings when the sun has set, How, suddenly, you come on fairyland, And sly Romance has snared you in her net? How gay those trooping girls are—eyes how bright— Who hurry across the crowded Square to meet The boys who wait them, in the lingering light: How sweet to hear their little tapping feet! They have no time to watch the sky above, For all the world, to them, is life and love. Only the passionate dreamer takes delight In the great pageant of the approaching night, Who, striving, caged, to burst his spirit’s bars, Laughs at the flushed green sky, begemmed with stars.