QUOTIDIAN VISION.

There is a sadness in the street,

And sullenly the folk I meet

Droop their heads as they walk along,

Without a smile, without a song.

A mist of cold and muffling grey

Falls, fold by fold, on another day

That dies unwept. But suddenly,

Under a tunnelled arch I see

On flank and haunch the chestnut gleam

Of horses in a lamplit steam;

And the dead world moves for me once more

With beauty for its living core.