A northern suburb by John Davidson

A Northern Suburb" begins by taking the long, Darwinian view. From romancing the lost rural idyll in the second verse, it progresses to a concise, unsentimental depiction of the hardships of working-class existence. The poet on compares the workers' ill-designed houses with "ice-chests" in winter and "ovens" in summer. The metaphors are not unusual – but they get our senses working.

A Northern Suburb

Nature selects the longest way, And winds about in tortuous grooves;A thousand years the oaks decay; The wrinkled glacier hardly moves.

But here the whetted fangs of change Daily devour the old demesne –The busy farm, the quiet grange, The wayside inn, the village green.

In gaudy yellow brick and red, With rooting pipes, like creepers rank,The shoddy terraces o'erspread Meadow, and garth, and daisied bank.

With shelves for rooms the houses crowd, Like draughty cupboards in a row –Ice-chests when wintry winds are loud, Ovens when summer breezes blow.

Roused by the fee'd policeman's knock, And sad that day should come again,Under the stars the workmen flock In haste to reach the workmen's train.

For here dwell those who must fulfil Dull tasks in uncongenial spheres,Who toil through dread of coming ill, And not with hope of happier years –

The lowly folk who scarcely dare Conceive themselves perhaps misplaced,Whose prize for unremitting care Is only not to be disgraced.