A Town Window

BEYOND my window in the night

Is but a drab inglorious street,

Yet there the frost and clean starlight

As over Warwick woods are sweet.

Under the grey drift of the town

The crocus works among the mould

As eagerly as those that crown

The Warwick spring in flame and gold.

And when the tramway down the hill

Across the cobbles moans and rings,

There is about my window-sill

The tumult of a thousand wings.