Classic Poem

I love the fields, the woods, the streams,
The wild flowers fresh and sweet,
And yet I love no less than these,
The crowded city street;
For haunts of man, where'er they be,
Awake my deepest sympathy.

I see within the city street,
Life's most extreme estates,
The gorgeous domes of palaces,
The prison's doleful gates:
The hearths by household virtues blest,
The dens that are the serpent's nest.

I see the rich man, proudly fed
And richly clothed, pass by;
I see the shivering, homeless wretch,
With hunger in his eye;
For life's severest contrasts meet
For ever in the city street.

And lofty, princely palaces—
What dreary deeds of wo,
What untold, mortal agonies
Their arras chambers know!
Yet is without all smooth and fair
As Heaven's blue dome of summer air.

And even the portliest citizen,
Within his doors doth hide
Some household grief, some secret care,
From all the world beside;
It ever was, it must be so,
For human heritage is wo!

Hence is it that a city street
Can deepest thought impart,
For all its people, high and low,
Are kindred to my heart;
And with a yearning love I share
In all their joy, their pain, their care.