A Smile Given In Passing

As I walked the street in the purring evening A little maid with yellow curls Tossed me a smile; and suddenly Pennyfields Grew from darkness to light, and the light of the stars Grew pale.

I may not see her again, but I hold her smile in my heart, And she is with me in my shop and about the streets. My shop may tumble down; West India Dock may some time suffer a drought; Grief and Joy come for a day; And Hope and Fear, and Desire and Deed Arise and pass, and are no more; But the beauty born of her quickened smile Can never die.