An Old House in London

In fancy I can see thee stand

Again in the green meadow-land;

As in thine infancy, long past,

When Southwark was a lovely waste;

And Larks and Blackbirds sang around,

As common as their children found

So far away in these late days.

And thou did like a lighthouse raise

Thy windows, that their light could show

Across the broad, green calm below;

And there were trees, beneath whose boughs

Stood happy horses, sheep and cows.

And wilful brooks, that would not yield

To hedges to mark out each field,

But every field that they passed through

Was by them cut and counted two.

From thou back windows thou couldst see,

Half-way between St. Paul's and thee,

Swans with their shadows, and the barge

Of state old Thames took in his charge.

Ah, wert thou now what thou wert then,

There were no need to fly from men.

Instead of those green meadows, now

Three hundred hungry children show

Rags and white faces at thy door

For charity.  We see no more

Green lanes, but alleys dark instead;

Where none can walk but fear to tread

On babes that crawl in dirt and slime.

And from thy windows, at this time,

Thou canst not see ten yards beyond,

For the high blocks that stand around;

Buildings that ofttimes only give

One room in which five souls must live,

With but one window for their air.

Foul art thou now with lives of care,

For hungry children and men poor

Seek food and lodging at thy door;

Thou that didst hear, in thy first hours,

Birds sing, and saw the sweet wild flowers.