BENEATH this narrow jostling street, <br /> Unruffled by the noise of feet, <br />Like a slow organ-note I hear <br />The pulses of the great world beat. <br /> <br />Unseen beneath the city’s show <br />Through this aorta ever flow <br />The currents of the universe— <br />A thousand pulses throbbing low! <br /> <br />Unheard beneath the pavement’s din <br />Unknown magicians sit within <br />Dim caves, and weave life into words <br />On patient looms that spin and spin. <br /> <br />There, uninspired, yet with the dower <br />Of mightier mechanic power, <br />Some bent, obscure Euripides <br />Builds the loud drama of the hour! <br /> <br />There, from the gaping presses hurled, <br />A thousand voices, passion-whirled, <br />With throats of steel vociferate <br />The incessant story of the world! <br /> <br />So through this artery from age <br />To age the tides of passion rage, <br />The swift historians of each day <br />Flinging a world upon a page! <br /> <br />And then I pause and gaze my fill <br />Where cataracts of traffic spill <br />Their foam into the Circus. Lo! <br />Look up, the crown on Ludgate Hill! <br /> <br />Remote from all the city’s moods, <br />In high, untroubled solitudes, <br />Like an old Buddha swathed in dream, <br />St. Paul’s above the city broods!<br /><br />Arthur Henry Adams<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fleet-street/
