Looking at my windows closely from the street,
I see in them the life of the street reflected.
Yet if I stand away, the glass remains transparent,
And I see clearly through it to the things beyond.

If I look with close vision
Into the hearts of men,
I see my own small heart reflected.
I will try henceforth not to look at them too closely.



At the Feast of Lanterns

Lithely on their strings swing the many-coloured lanterns,
For this is the Feast of Lanterns;
And Pennyfields and West India Dock Road
Are to-night a part of my own country,
Aglow with the hues of the Peacock's Tail,
Very amiable to the eye.

In a recess of my heart
Is a poor street hung with lanterns.
These lanterns are my thoughts,
And they are lighted at the last hours of the evenings,
When through this street
Walks the willowy maiden from the tea-shop across the road.