Page:The Yellow Book - 05.djvu/332

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300
Fleet Street Eclogue
Herbert.Oh! but the old stile stands, For ever dear to me—Foot-worn, its bars by many hands Polished like ebony!
Menzies.But me my city spleen Holds in a fretting bond.
Herbert.And the quickset hedges mantle green, And the fields roll green beyond; While the antique footpath winds about By farms and little towns, By waterways, and in and out, And up and over the downs.
Menzies. I hear the idle workmen's sighs; I hear their children's hungry cries; I hear the burden of the years; I hear the drip of women's tears; I hear despair, whose tongue is dumb, Speak thunder in the ruthless bomb.
Sandy.But why keep brooding over ill? Why hearken such discordant tones?
Herbert.
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