In old Love Lane on Brooklyn Heights There's an ebony bob from Arabian Nights; She sings each eve of the Tom Moore rose -- And the neighbors shut off their radios. The people who pass through Henry Street, They presently go with lagging feet, For in old Love Lane a cantatrice shade Is taking the trills of Adelaide. Shaking the sistrum -- a blackberry bob, Dulcing the treble and daring the sob; Never a wonder that listeners perch On the mansion steps near Plymouth Church. They hear the birds by a waterfall, They see the rose that was last of all; The dim garages grow less profane, For something with pinions is down in the lane. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW; IN MEMORIAM by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON TO LUCASTA ON GOING TO THE WARS FOR THE FOURTH TIME by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES GOD'S WORLD by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY TWO VARIATIONS ON AN OLD NURSEY RHYME: 2 by EDITH SITWELL WHEN HELEN LIVED by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS IMAGES: 2 by RICHARD ALDINGTON THE BLACK MOUSQUETAIRE; A LEGEND OF FRANCE by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM |