London F.S.Flint(1885-1960) LONDON,my beautiful, it is not the sunset nor the pale green sky shimmering through the curtain of the silver birch, 5 nor the quietness; it is not the hopping of birds upon the lawn, nor the darkness 16 stealing over all things that moves me. But as the moon creeps slowly over the tree-tops among the stars, 15 I think of her
London F. S. Flint(1885-1960) LONDON, my beautiful, it is not the sunset nor the pale green sky shimmering through the curtain of the silver birch, 5 nor the quietness; it is not the hopping of birds upon the lawn, nor the darkness 10 stealing over all things that moves me. But as the moon creeps slowly over the tree-tops among the stars, 15 I think of her
and the glow her passing sheds on men. London,my beautiful, I will climb 2% into the branches to the moonlit tree-tops, that my blood may be cooled by the wind
and the glow her passing sheds on men. London, my beautiful, I will climb 20 into the branches to the moonlit tree-tops, that my blood may be cooled by the wind
