Lockerbie Street

Such a dear little street it is, nestled away     From the noise of the city and heat of the day,     In cool shady coverts of whispering trees,     With their leaves lifted up to shake hands with the breeze     Which in all its wide wanderings never may meet     With a resting-place fairer than Lockerbie street!     There is such a relief, from the clangor and din     Of the heart of the town, to go loitering in     Through the dim, narrow walks, with the sheltering shade     Of the trees waving over the long promenade,     And littering lightly the ways of our feet     With the gold of the sunshine of Lockerbie street.     And the nights that come down the dark pathways of dusk,     With the stars in their tresses, and odors of musk     In their moon-woven raiments, bespangled with dews,     And looped up with lilies for lovers to use     In the songs that they sing to the tinkle and beat     Of their sweet serenadings through Lockerbie street.     O my Lockerbie street! You are fair to be seen -     Be it noon of the day, or the rare and serene     Afternoon of the night - you are one to my heart,     And I love you above all the phrases of art,     For no language could frame and no lips could repeat     My rhyme-haunted raptures of Lockerbie street.