The Poetical Works of George Barlow :: :: University of Virginia Library

Of old the streets were sad and grim:
They stretched along, one mass of grey,
Vast leagues on leagues of saddening hue
That changed not if the heaven were blue
Or if the wintry sky were dim,
The same from day to day.

But now the London streets are bright:
In this one point our victory's won;
Pure country flowers adorn our streets
And fill our balconies with sweets,
And make our homes a blaze of light,
And tell us of the sun.

Geraniums red as flame are there,
And golden-centred daisies white:
London makes Sussex ferns its own,
And calls on Devon for a loan;

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Pink fuchsias smile in London air,
And calceolarias bright.

But one thing yet remains to do—
To look beyond our balconies.
The girl-flowers who in thousands fade
Within our city's noisome shade,
Let them be loved and cherished too,
Not cared for less than these!

Not cared for less than flowers that cry
With somewhat in their speech of scorn,
“Shame that the town that worships flowers
Should let far lovelier lives than ours
Perish! What it one rose should die?
Another rose is born.

“But if ye lose one girl-flower fair
In these dark streets by thousands trod,
That means the loss to your grim town
For ever of one lily-crown,—
That means to angel-hearts despair,
And agony to God.”