COMING BACK
I DARESAY if I were to tell, What I do miss or here or there, In this old town I love so well — What shrill of laughter down the air!
Each door was wide and painted white; And every day its plate of brass, A small maid-servant polished bright, Until it shone like any glass.
Each Covenanter name stood plain, A mellow mouthful, yet pricked through With fighting yesters, heard again Like clash of spears across the dew.
A hundred things and more are gone In this old town where'er I pass; But most of all, from dawn to dawn, I miss the little plates of brass!