Street Dancers by W.B. Yeats

Singing in this London street / To the rhythm of their feet, / By a window's feeble light / Are two ragged children bright --

Larger sparrows of the town, / Nested 'mong the vapours brown.

Far away the starry mirth / Hangs o'er all the wooded earth.

If these merry ones should know, / Footing in the feeble glow, / Of a wide wood's leafy leisure, / Would they foot so fleet a measure?

Ah no!

Maybe now in some far lane, / Dancing on the moon's broad stain, / Watched of placid poplar trees, / Children sing in twos and threes.

Hush! hush! hush! on every lip / Lies a chubby finger-tip, / As there floats from fields afar / Clamour of the lone nightjar.

If these merry ones should know, / Footing in the feeble glow, / Other people's mirth and pleasure, / Would they foot so fleet a measure?

Ah no!

Maybe in some isle of isles, / In the south seas' azure miles, / Dance the savage children small, / Singing to their light footfall.

Hush! hush! hush! they pause and point / Where a shell, the seas anoint, / Dropping liquid rainbow light, / Rolls along the sea-sands white.

If these merry ones should know, / Footing in the feeble glow, / Other people's mirth and pleasure, / Would they foot so fleet a measure?

Ah no!

Maybe now a Bedouin's brood / Laughing goes in wildest mood, / Past the spears and palm-stems dry, / Past the camel's dreaming eye.

Hush! hush! hush! they pause them where / Bows the Bedouin's whitening hair -- / Peace of youth and peace of age, / Thoughtless joys and sorrows sage.

If these merry ones should know, / Footing in the feeble glow, / Other people's mirth and pleasure, / Would they foot so fleet a measure?

Ah no!

Others know the healing earth, / Others know the starry mirth; / They will wrap them in the shroud, / Sorrow-worn, yet placid browed.

London streets have heritage / Blinder sorrows, harder wage --

Sordid sorrows of the mart, / Sorrows sapping brain and heart.