rl of crowded streets. Shock and recoil of traffic. The stock-still
brick facade of an old church, against which the waves of people lurch
and withdraw. Flare of sunshine down side-streets. Eddies of light in
the windows of chemists' shops, with their blue, gold, purple jars,
darting colours far into the crowd. Loud bangs and tremors, murmurings
out of high windows, whirring of machine belts, blurring of horses and
motors. A quick spin and shudder of brakes on an electric car, and the
jar of a church-bell knocking against the metal blue of the sky. I am a
piece of the town, a bit of blown dust, thrust along with the crowd.
Proud to feel the pavement under me, reeling with feet. Feet tripping,
skipping, lagging, dragging, plodding doggedly, or springing up and
advancing on firm elastic insteps. A boy is selling papers, I smell them
clean and new from the press. They are fresh like the air, and pungent
as tulips and narcissus.

The blue sky pales to lemon, and great tongues of gold blind the
shop-windows, putting out their contents in a flood of flame.

Night and Sleep

The day takes her ease in slippered yellow. Electric signs gleam out
along the shop fronts, following each other. They grow, and grow, and
blow into patterns of fire-flowers as the sky fades. Trades scream in
spots of light at the unruffled night. Twinkle, jab, snap, that means a
new play; and over the way: plop, drop, quiver, is the sidelong sliver
of a watchmaker's sign with its length on another street. A gigantic mug
of beer effervesces to the atmosphere over a tall building, but the sky
is high and has her own stars, why should she heed ours?

I leave the city with speed. Wheels whirl to take me back to my trees
and my quietness. The breeze which blows with me is fresh-washed and
clean, it has come but recently from the high sky. There are no flowers
in bloom yet, but the earth of my garden smells of tulips and narcissus.

My room is tranquil and friendly. Out of the window I can see the
distant city, a band of twinkling gems, little flower-heads with no
stems. I cannot see the beer-glass, nor the letters of the restaurants
and shops I passed, now the signs blur and all together make the city,
glowing on a night of fine weather, like a garden stirring and blowing
for the Spring.

The night is fresh-washed and fair and there is a whiff of flowers in
the air.

Wrap me close, sheets of lavender. Pour your blue and purple dreams