Not I
As I came out of Wiseman’s Street,
The air was thick with driving sleet;
Crossing over Proudman’s Square,
Cold clouds and louring dulled the air;
But as I turned to Goodman’s Lane,
The burning sun came out again;
And on the roof of Children’s Row
In solemn glory shone the snow.
There did I lodge; there hope to die:
Envying no man—no, not I.