She lives in the smoky city,
Low down by the railway line;
But she asks for no man’s pity,
Nor cares for verse of mine.
She’s moving hither and thither,
And often her work is hard;
But sometimes in fine weather
She rests a bit in the yard.
With the empty pail behind her,
She leans her arms on the wall,
And hopes that there he’ll find her,
Her lover, strong and tall.
Up in the air above her,
The great trains outward go;
And many a lass and her lover
May journey to Jericho.
But when he stoops from his doorway,
And leans his arms on the wall,
The world would be in a poor way
If that were not best of all.