Poem by Charlotte Mary Mew

The Narrow Door

          The narrow door, the narrow door
          On the three steps of which the café children play
          Mostly at shop with pebbles from the shore,
          It is always shut this narrow door
      But open for a little while to-day.

      And round it, each with pebbles in his hand,
      A silenced crowd the café children stand
      To see the long box jerking down the bend
      Of twisted stair; then set on end,
      Quite filling up the narrow door
      Till it comes out and does not go in any more.

          Along the quay you see it wind,
      The slow black line. Someone pulls up the blind
      Of the small window just above the narrow door--
          “Tiens! que veux-tu acheter?” Rénée cries,
          “Mais, pour quat’sous, des oignons,” Jean replies
      And one pays down with pebbles from the shore.

1. Beside the Bed
2. The Fête
3. June, 1915
4. The Road to Kerity
5. The Peddler

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