On Hampstead Heath by Ruth Collie

There'll be a band, I know there will, just at the incline of the / hill; and many folk will loiter there and clap, and stamp, and shout / and stare. But little children will stand dumb, so fascinated by the / drum. Ah! now guitar and flute are still -- and crowds begin to climb / the hill. What fun it is! Here, stalls begin. Bright paper hats / and masks that grin. "Fevvers and ticklers. Buy them, boys. And / golliwogs, and jumping toys. " Up, up, it goes, this noisy stream of / merrymakers. "Best ice-cream! " The sun's so hot, and there's no / shade. "Your fortune, lady! Lemonade! " Up, up, they go. The / noises swell, but why all laugh no one can tell. The roundabout / begins to play and every heart keeps holiday. And as these folk / swarm up the hill, it's "Two a penny, try your skill. Such handsome / prizes. Come on, try. Fine fevvers, ticklers. Buy, boys, buy! " I / vowed I'd never go again, but in this reminiscent strain, I see it / all -- and I just long to mingle with that happy throng!