NOT I

As I came out of Wiseman's Street,

The air was thick with driving sleet;

Crossing over Proudman's Square,

Cold clouds and louring dulled the air;

But as I turned to Goodman's Lane,

The burning sun came out again;

And on the roof of Children's Row

In solemn glory shone the snow.

There did I lodge; there hope to die:

Envying no man — no, not I.