On the East Side any day,
When the street pianos play
You can see the children dancing with
a rhythmic whirl and sway.
All untaught their native grace,
Joy in every grinning face,
To the music they are gaily keeping
perfect time and pace.
But, infirm and aged crones,
Do not risk your ancient bones;
Your old nerves would suffer sadly
jarred and jolted by the stones.