 | Forest buds, from the woods of Maine |  |
177
STREET MUSIC.
Methought a sweet sound from the street uprose,—And as I pause, and strive again to hear,
“St. Patrick's Day” draws softly to its close,
And “Jordan's” waves flow sweetly to my ear,
What though from humble source the chorus floats?
Music is music, and I listen still;
I have “an ear,”—ay, two!—Even jews-harp notes
Pass current with me, hear them where I will,
A slight Italian boy, with jetty hair
Shading dark eyes, grinds out the melody,
Pulverized music!—In his garb and air
I read of sunnier lands beyond the sea,
And, dreaming, wander to a fairer clime,
Recalled, too suddenly, by—“If you please, a dime!”
| Forest buds, from the woods of Maine | |