'DUSTMAN, dustman!' <br />Through the deserted square he cries, <br />And babies put their rosy fists <br />Into their eyes. <br /> <br />There's nothing out of No-man's-land <br />So drowsy since the world began, <br />As 'Dustman, dustman, <br />Dustman.' <br /> <br />He goes his village round at dusk <br />From door to door, from day to day; <br />And when the children hear his step <br />They stop their play. <br /> <br />'Dustman, dustman!' <br />Far up the street he is descried, <br />And soberly the twilight games <br />Are laid aside. <br /> <br />'Dustman, dustman!' <br />There, Drowsyhead, the old refrain, <br />'Dustman, dustman! <br />It goes again. <br /> <br />Dustman, dustman, <br />Hurry by and let me sleep. <br />When most I wish for you to come, <br />You always creep. <br /> <br />Dustman, dustman, <br />And when I want to play some more, <br />You never then are farther off <br />Than the next door. <br /> <br />'Dustman, dustman!' <br />He beckles down the echoing curb, <br />A step that neither hopes nor hates <br />Ever disturb. <br /> <br />'Dustman, dustman!' <br />He never varies from one pace, <br />And the monotony of time <br />Is in his face. <br /> <br />And some day, with more potent dust, <br />Brought from his home beyond the deep, <br />And gently scattered on our eyes, <br />We, too, shall sleep,— <br /> <br />Hearing the call we know so well <br />Fade softly out as it began, <br />'Dustman, dustman, <br />Dustman!'<br /><br />Bliss William Carman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-dustman/
