THE WINDOW-SILL
The fuchsias dangle on their stem,The baby girl looks up at them,The light comes through the muslin frillUpon the painted window-sill.She cannot see the world outsideWhere men in snorting motors ride,Each speeding from his far abodeTo town, along the Fulham Road.
The fuchsias dangle on their stem,The baby girl looks up at them,The light comes through the muslin frillUpon the painted window-sill.She cannot see the world outsideWhere men in snorting motors ride,Each speeding from his far abodeTo town, along the Fulham Road.
The fuchsias dangle on their stem,The baby girl looks up at them,The light comes through the muslin frillUpon the painted window-sill.
She cannot see the world outsideWhere men in snorting motors ride,Each speeding from his far abodeTo town, along the Fulham Road.