Here you will find the Long Poem Bayswater.W. of poet Arthur Henry Adams
About me leagues of houses lie, Above me, grim and straight and high, They climb; the terraces lean up Like long grey reefs against the sky. Packed tier on tier the people dwell; Each narrow, hollow wall is full; And in that hive of honeycomb, Remote and high, I have one cell. And when I turn into my street I hear in murmurous retreat A tide of noises flowing out -- The city ebbing from my feet! And lo! two long straight walls between, There dwells a little park serene, Where blackened trees and railings hem A little handkerchief of green! Yet I can see across the roof The sun, the stars and . . . God! For proof -- Between the twisting chimney-pots A pointing finger, old, aloof! The traffic that the city rends Within my quiet haven ends In a deep murmur, or across My pool a gentle ripple sends. A chime upon the silence drab Paints music; hooting motors stab The pleasant peace; and, far and faint, The jangling lyric of the cab! And when I wander, proud and free, Through my domain, unceasingly The endless pageant of the shops Marches along the street with me. About me ever blossoming Like rich parterres the hoardings fling An opulence of hue, and make Within my garden endless Spring. The droning tram-cars spitting light: And like great bees in drunken flight Burly and laden deep with bloom, The 'busses lumbering home at night! Sometimes an afternoon will fling New meaning on each sombre thing, And low upon the level roofs The sultry sun lies smouldering. Sometimes the fog -- that faery girl -- Her veil of wonder will unfurl, And crescent gaunt and looming flat Are sudden mysteries of pearl! New miracles the wet streets show; On stems of flame the gas-lamps glow. I walk upon the wave and see Another London drowned below! And when night comes strange jewels strew The winding streets I wander through: Like pearls upon a woman's throat The street-lamps' swerving avenue! In every face that passes mine Unfathomed epics I divine: Each figure on the pavement is A vial of untasted wine! Through lands enchanted wandering, To all a splendour seems to cling. Lo! from a window-beacon high Hope still the Night is questioning! And so, ere sleep, I lie and mark Romance's stealthy footsteps. Hark! The rhythm of the horse's hoof Bears some new drama through the dark! So in this tall and narrow street I lie as in Death's lone retreat And hear, loud in the pulse of Life, Eternity upon me beat!