Classic Poem

A NIGHT of bustle and gas. I stand
A lonely soul in the busy Strand —
Stirring above, stirring below —
Who all these people? Where do they go?

I know not; but, friends, were mine your part,
If, roaming about, you sought a heart,
A gentle heart in a gentle breast,
To cherish, and love you, and give you rest,

You would thrill and tremble with joy and pain,
You would stop, and wander, and stop again,
And muse if the yearning exceed not the kiss,
And if search be not sweeter than finding is.