Under a Shining Window
A lamplit window,At the top of a tenement house near Poplar High Street,Shines fluently out of the night;And looking upward I seeThat the bricks of the houses are bright and fair to the eye.
There are no flowers in West India Dock Road;Nothing but brick and stone, and iron and spent air.But when rough brick and stone are a shrine for beauty,They become themselves beautiful.Perhaps if this person encloses within himselfBeautiful thoughts and amiable intentions,His insignificant frame may acquireThe noble outlines of that tenement house.