I STILL love London in the month of May, By an old habit, spite of dust and din. I love the fair adulterous world, whose way Is by the pleasant banks of Serpentine. I love the worshippers at fashion's shrine, The flowers, the incense, and the pageantry Of generations which still ask a sign Of that dear god, whose votary am I. I love the "greetings in the market-place," The jargon of the clubs. I love to view The "gilded youth" who at the window pass, For ever smiling smiles for ever new. I love these men and women at their task Of hunting pleasure. Hope, mysterious too, Touches my arm and points, and seems to ask "And you, have you no Juliet in the masque?" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE AUTHOR TO HER BOOK by ANNE BRADSTREET BLUE-BUTTERFLY DAY by ROBERT FROST DESERT BRIDE by MARY MILLER BEARD ON A TORSO OF CUPID by MATHILDE BLIND MEMORIES by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON TO THE EARL OF CLARE by GEORGE GORDON BYRON ON HIS MISTRESS CROSSING THE SEA by THOMAS CAREW STANZAS PRINTED ON BILLS OF MORTALITY: 1792 by WILLIAM COWPER |