A Smile Given In Passing

As I walked the street in the purring evening

A little maid with yellow curls

Tossed me a smile; and suddenly Pennyfields

Grew from darkness to light, and the light of the stars

Grew pale.

I may not see her again, but I hold her smile in my heart,

And she is with me in my shop and about the streets.

My shop may tumble down;

West India Dock may some time suffer a drought;

Grief and Joy come for a day;

And Hope and Fear, and Desire and Deed

Arise and pass, and are no more;

But the beauty born of her quickened smile

Can never die.