Street Scene—Little Lonsdale St.

I wish you'd seen that dirty little boy,
Finger at nose,
Peeking and ginking at some girls in rows
Seated on the high window-sills to rest.
One of the girls had hair as bright as corn.
And one was red.
And over their soft forms a glow was shed
From lamps new-lighted in the laundry there.
That boy, beneath them, wheeled a hand-cart full
Of cast-off busts
From sewing rooms. They looked like shells of lusts.
And all the girls around the windows laughed.