Explore "St. Martin's Lane" by Eugene Field on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
ST. MARTIN'S LANE winds up the hill, / And trends a devious way; / I walk therein amid the din / Of busy London day: / I walk where wealth and squalor meet, / And think upon a time / When others trod this saintly sod, / And heard St. Martin's chime.
But when those solemn bells invoke / The midnight's slumbrous grace, / The ghosts of men come back again / To haunt that curious place: / The ghosts of sages, poets, wits, / Come back in goodly train; / And all night long, with mirth and song, / They walk St. Martin's Lane.