Classic Poem

The sounds in the morning
Go all down the street:
The tapping of sticks
And the patter of feet,
The wind in the plane-trees
That whisper and rustle,
The pigeons all sleepy,
The newsboys all hustle,
The clippety-clop
And the clip-clop again
Of soldiers and horses,
More horses than men,
The clatter of milk-cans,
The chatter of maids,
The slop of their buckets,
The sort without spades,
And sometimes the mooing
Of slow-moving cows
Brings the smell of the lowlands
To me as I drowse,
And sometimes the bleating
And scuffle of sheep
Draws down the hill-tops
To me half-asleep,
Dogs barking, bells chiming,
The twitter of sparrows —
Till the sun through the slats
Of my blind shoots his arrows,
And the world of my ears
Seems to dwindle in size
As I jump out of bed
To the world of my eyes.