Country roads are yellow and brown.
We mend the roads in London town.
Never a hansom dare come nigh,
Never a cart goes rolling by.
An unwonted silence steals
In between the turning wheels.
Quickly ends the autumn day,
And the workman goes his way,
Leaving, midst the traffic rude,
One small isle of solitude,
Lit, throughout the lengthy night,
By the little lantern's light.
Jewels of the dark have we,
Brighter than the rustic's be.
Over the dull earth are thrown
Topaz, and the ruby stone.
Little Lanterns have changed to brightest neon or flurocent like street lights during years. Yellow, brownish, and reddish roads world over are changed to perfectly trafficable tarred or concrete or such modern roads. Still we can enjoy this small poem in its essence and beauty and the wonderful creativity of poet is very much happy to read.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Leaving, midst the traffic rude, One small isle of solitude, Lit, throughout the lengthy night, By the little lantern's light. very fine poem. thought provoking. tony