Classic Poem

From fields made bright with flowers in bloom
A young girl turned
And sought a darkling London room,
Wherein one gas-jet burned.

She left the blossoming meads behind,
The silent nooks
Where fragrant violets wooed the wind
Or whispered to the brooks:

She passed through streets where wild wheels roar
And dust-wreaths race, —
Brought sunshine to a sunless door,
Light to a weary face:

She left the golden furze to scent
The soft air's wing;
Made for one hour one heart content,
And filled it with the spring.