II

Does the slant touch of early light awake The sirens on the Clyde, and fling the door Wide on the city’s rousing all-day roar? Are the streets well a-clatter? Do they break From tram and train, that travelling host, and take The town by storm? Does gathering traffic pour Over the tide-line of night’s silent shore, Into the spaces, till the cobbles quake? While down the river, crowded to the brink With huddled shipyards, many a loaded quay, Ten hundred thousand volleying hammers clink; And the slow homing liner booms to see The ever-coiling waters still a-wink With mirrored shipping freighted for the sea.