Is not too low,

 If there is pity’s need;

 And no man born,

 For cruelty or greed

 Escapes that scorn.

 Most of all things, it seems,

 He loves the town.

55

 Watching the bright-faced streams

 Go up and down,

 I have surprised him often

 On Tremont street,

 And marked the grave face soften,

 The mouth grow sweet,

 In a brown study over

 The men and women.

 An unsuspected rover

 That, for our Common.

 When the first jonquils come,

 And spring is sold

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