Part 1 (1/2)

Poems of London and Other Verses.

by John Presland.

LONDON DAWN

Dawn over London; all the pearly light Trembles and quivers over street and park, The houses are a strange, unearthly white; Pavement and roof grow slowly, palely bright; There is no shadow, neither light nor dark But everything is steeped in glimmering dawn.

Oh, purity of dawn; oh, milk-and-pearl Translucent splendour, spreading far and wide, As on a yellow beach the small waves curl --Almost as noiselessly as buds unfurl-- On windless mornings with the rising tide, So flows the dawn o'er London, all asleep.

Indeed, I think that heaven is a sea, And London is a city of old rhymes Sunk fathoms deep in its transparency, That folk of living lands may dream they see And muse on, and have thoughts about our times, How we were great and splendid, and now gone.

For never light the common earth has born, This crystalline pale wonder that so falls On streets and squares the daily toil has worn, On blind-eyed houses, holding lives forlorn, For the grey roads and wide, blank, grey-brick walls s.h.i.+ne with a glory that is new and strange.

And not more wonderful, nor otherwise Shall dawn come up upon the dewy hills, Nor in the mountains, where the rivers rise That water Eden; and no lovelier lies The dawn on Paradise, than this that fills The s.p.a.ce 'twixt house and house with tremulous light.

Yet, on the pavement, huddled fast asleep, A thing of dusty, ragged misery, Grotesque in wretchedness, from London's deep Spumed off, a strange, distorted thing to creep From G.o.d knows where, and lie, and let all be Unheeding, whether of the day or night.

Such tired, hopeless angles of the knees And neck and elbows--and the dawning grey Trembling to sunrise; in the park the trees Begin to s.h.i.+ver lightly in a breeze, And turning watchful kindly eyes away The policeman pa.s.ses slowly on his beat.

SPRING IN OXFORD STREET

A dash of rain on the pavement, In the air a gleam of sun, And the clouds are white, and rolling high From Marble Arch all down the sky --And that's the spring begun!

The sky is all a-s.h.i.+ning With sunniest blue and white, The flags are streaming out full cry As the crisp North wind comes bustling by, And all the roofs are bright.

And all the shops and houses Of sunlit Oxford Street, --Pearl behind amber, gold by rose-- To grey the long perspective goes; Till all the houses meet.

And there, in every gutter, The glory of spring flowers The whole long street with colour fills, And across the yellow daffodils Sharp suns.h.i.+ne and soft showers.

And among the drabs and greys and browns Of folk going to and fro Are trays of violets, darkly bright, And yellow, like the spring moon's light, Pale primrose-bunches show.

There's blue in every puddle, And every pane of gla.s.s Has a thousand little dancing suns, --And up and down the glad news runs, That spring has come to pa.s.s.

JUDD STREET, ST. PANCRAS

My dwelling has a courtyard wide Where lord with lady well might pace, --Such silks and velvets side by side, And she a fan to s.h.i.+eld her face!-- It's fine as any king's; For there I see on either hand The whole great stretch of London lie; --Just so as any king might stand Upon his roof, to watch go by The flas.h.i.+ng pigeon wings.

Just so a king might look abroad: ”And this is all my own,” says he, And then he'd turn to some great lord, Who'd acquiesce with gravity --But that I do without, For all of lord there is up here Is this impa.s.sive chimney-stack, And cloudy be my view or clear My courtier will not answer back; All silent I look out,

And see the flight of roofs that fade Towards the West in golden haze, And all this work men's hands have made Like jewels in the sun's last rays-- I have a dwelling wide; Three rooms are mine, but I can go Up to this roof in shade or s.h.i.+ne, And watch all London change and glow Rose, purple, gold; three rooms are mine-- And all of heaven beside.

SPARROWS