WHAT ails my senses thus to cheat ? What is it ails the place, That all the people in the street Should wear one woman's face ? The London trees are dusty-brown Beneath the summer sky ; My love, she dwells in London town, Nor leaves it in July. O various and intricate maze, Wide waste of square and street ; Where, missing through unnumbered days, We twain at last may meet ! And who cries out on crowd and mart ? Who prates of stream and sea ? The summer in the city's heart -- That is enough for me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO MUSIC [TO BECALM HIS FEVER] by ROBERT HERRICK DICK, A MAGGOT by JONATHAN SWIFT RECONCILIATION by WALT WHITMAN CHARACTERS: SUSANNAH BARBAULD MARISSAL by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD TWELVE SONNETS: 3. THE VALLEY ROSES by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |