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go tiptoe down the stair. THE 5:42 Lilac, violet, and rose Ardently the city glows; Sunset glory, purely sweet, Gilds the dreaming byway-street, And, above the Avenue, Winter dusk is deepening blue. (Then, across Long Island meadows, Darker, darker, grow the shadows: Patience, little waiting lass! Laggard minutes slowly pass; Patience, laughs the yellow fire: Homeward bound is heart's desire!) Hark, adown the canyon street Flows the merry tide of feet; High the golden buildings loom Blazing in the purple gloom; All the town is set with stars, _Homeward_ chant the Broadway cars! All down Thirty-second Street _Homeward_, _Homeward_, say the feet! Tramping men, uncouth to view, Footsore, weary, thrill anew; Gone the ringing telephones, Blessed nightfall now atones. Casting brightness on the snow Golden the train windows go. Then (how long it seems) at last All the way is overpast. Heart that beats your muffled drum, Lo, your venturer is come! Wide the door! Leap high, O fire! Home at length is heart's desire! Gone is weariness and fret, At the sill warm lips are met. Once again may be renewed The conjoined beatitude. READING ALOUD Once we read Tennyson aloud In our great fireside chair; Between the lines, my lips could touch Her April-scented hair. How very fond I was, to think The printed poems fair, When close within my arms I held A living lyric there! THE MOON-SHEEP The moon seems like a docile sheep, She pastures while all people sleep; But sometimes, when she goes astray, She wanders all alone by day. Up in the clear blue morning air We are surprised to see her there, Grazing in her woolly white, Waiting the return of night. When dusk lets down the meadow bars She greets again her lambs, the stars! MAR QUONG, CHINESE LAUNDRYMAN I like the Chinese laundryman: He smokes a pipe that bubbles, And seems, as far as I can tell, A man with but few troubles. He has much to do, no doubt, But also, much to think about. Most men (for instance I myself) Are spending, at all times, All our hard-earned quarters, Our nickels
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