Is it not pleasant to wander
In town on Saturday night,
While people go hither and thither,
And shops shed cheerful light?
And, arm in arm, while our shadows
Chase us along the panes,
Are we not quite as cozy
As down among country lanes?
Nobody knows us, heeds us,
Nobody hears or sees,
And the shop-lights gleam more gladly
Than the moon on hedges and trees;
And people coming and going,
All upon ends of their own,
Though they work a spell on the spirit,
Make it more finely alone.
The sound seems harmless and pleasant
As the murmur of brook and wind;
The shops with the fruit and the pictures
Have sweetness to suit my mind;
And nobody knows us, heeds us,
And our loving none reproves,