POETRY.
A QUESTION.
OUT of Wharfedale up the hill
Where now the motor speeds, By Oreskeld Lane I walked at night, And on and on to Cookridge height. Until spread out before my sight There lay the lights of Leeds.
Multitudinous they gleamed Like stars spilt from the sky, To right and left so thickly strewn, They made a spacious garden, sown With flowers of light, all richly grown, That fed and filled the eye.
Where were the smoke and ugliness ?
The mean streets, where were they P
The gracious darkness covered them, And innocent as Bethlehem The city looked, as gem by gem I marked each wandering way.
But ah, why need Man's dwelling place Be only fair by night ?
Why change not all things that offend P Why make not Beauty's self an end, That where men labour she may lend An everyday delight ?
WILLLLX H. DRAPER.
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