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A London pavement art poemAll day he toiled in some dull street And dreamed his visions true, Where high stone walls their shadows cast, Careless of all the crowd that passed, And paused, and passed anew. In beauty his own hands had made He lived from day to day, Mid scarlet flowers, and skies of blue, And shadowed slopes, he never knew The world around was grey. Through valleys green the cool streams ran, Deep fringed with fern and flower, By green-haired willows bending low, And white birds wheeled to skies aglow In sunset’s burning hour. And some, before the pictured hills, Stood still, remembering The mountains, longed for, all their days, Who, fettered fast by city ways, Might only dream of Spring. But still recalled with longing pain, The song of mountain rills, Where grey mists drift, and upward curl, And morning walks in rose and pearl Among the shining hills. And others who have never seen The splendid morning rise On misty hill, or valleys dim, Or long, cool slopes, gave thanks to him Who spread before their eyes A beauty they had never known, Perchance might never see, The tender green of woodland ways, Wide leagues of space in noonday’s haze Or dusk’s tranquillity.
–Written by NELLIE A. EVENS
Published in The Woman’s Weekly: Saturday 22nd December 1934
Researched by Philip Battle
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