Street Market

Here, under the awning of cotton,
Tomatoes are heaped in a flare
Of glossy red beauty, and rotten
Sick-sweet smells of fruit fill the air,
Of the apple, the fat yellow pear.
What a sense of a glory forgotten
Of olden time market and fair!
Here, wedged in the crowds, and the vendors,
Damp faces, and bonnets awry;
Here are bulwarks of kettles and fenders,
And lemons and oranges gleaming on high,
Sour to the sucking, but fair to the eye.
In a world full of wonders and splendours
It is sweet to shop under the sky!
So come, buy your hat for a penny;
Here are marvellous bargains for you;
For this is the mart of the many
And not of the few.

Here are dainties both pickled and bottled,
And carcases hung in the street,
And dreadful things clammy and mottled,
Slabs, slices, and bundles of meat.
Great mackerel, spotted and spangled,
Grey codfish, and horrible peeps
Of crab-claws, and lobsters all tangled
With shellfish, in pyramid heaps.
All strange things that live in the deeps
Are here for your will at a penny,
All chilly and briny and blue;
For this is the mart of the many
And not of the few.

There’s an organ that grinds in the gutter
A ditty as old as the hills;
There are mountains of fine yellow butter,
There are boas and buttons and frills.
For folk who are out for a flutter
Lo! this is the market that thrills.
There’s a gilder who works for a penny,
Gilds images newer than new;
For this is the mart of the many
And not of the few…

One year when the gloaming is colder
With summer and flowers on the wane,
My love and I, richer and older,
Still loving, not living in vain,
Shall come with our basket and shoulder
Our way through the market again;
He shall buy me a brooch for a penny,
A locket, a feather of blue.
For this is the mart of the many
And not of the few.