Page:Songs of the Road Doyle.djvu/88

Rh So I hear it rising, falling,

Till it dies away once more,

And I hear the costers calling

'Mid the weary London roar.

Who shall pity then the lameness,

Which still holds me from the ground?

Who commiserate the sameness

Of the scene that girds me round?

Though I lie a broken wreck,

Though I seem to want for all,

Still the world is at my beck

And the ages at my call.