John Drinkwater

A Town Window

    Beyond my window in the night
        Is but a drab inglorious street, 
    Yet there the frost and clean starlight
        As over Warwick woods are sweet.

    Under the grey drift of the town
        The crocus works among the mould 
    As eagerly as those that crown
        The Warwick spring in flame and gold.

    And when the tramway down the hill
        Across the cobbles moans and rings, 
    There is about my window-sill
        The tumult of a thousand wings.