Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

LONDON TOWN by LIONEL PIGOT JOHNSON

Poem Explanation Poet Analysis

First Line: LET OTHERS CHAUNT A COUNTRY PRAISE
Let others chaunt a country praise ,

Fair river walks and meadow ways;

Dearer to me my sounding days
Let others chaunt a country praise,
In London Town:
Fair river walks and meadow ways;
To me the tumult of the street
Dearer to me my sounding days
Is no less music, than the sweet
In previous hit London Town :
Surge of the wind among the wheat,
To me the tumult of the street
By dale or down.
Is no less music, than the sweet

Surge of the wind among the wheat,

By dale or down.
Three names mine heart with rapture hails,
Three names mine heart with rapture hails,
With homage: Ireland, Cornwall, Wales:
With homage: Ireland, Cornwall, Wales:
Lands of lone moor, and mountain gales,
Lands of lone moor, and mountain gales,
And stormy coast:
And stormy coast:
Yet London's voice upon the air
Yet London's voice upon the air
Pleads at mine heart, and enters there;
Pleads at mine heart, and enters there;
Sometimes I wellnigh love and care
Sometimes I wellnigh love and care
For London most.
For London most.

Listen upon the ancient hills:

All silence! save the lark, who trills
Listen upon the ancient hills:
Through sunlight, save the rippling rills:
All silence! save the lark, who trills
There peace may be.
Through sunlight, save the rippling rills:
But listen to great London! loud,
There peace may be.
As thunder from the purple cloud,
But listen to great London! loud,
Comes the deep thunder of the crowd,
As thunder from the purple cloud,
And heartens me.
Comes the deep thunder of the crowd,
O gray, O gloomy skies! What then?
And heartens me.
Here is a marvellous world of men;

More wonderful than Rome was, when

The world was Rome!
O gray, O gloomy skies! What then?
See the great stream of life flow by!
Here is a marvellous world of men;
Here thronging myriads laugh and sigh,
More wonderful than Rome was, when
Here rise and fall, here live and die:
The world was Rome!
In this vast home.
See the great stream of life flow by!
In long array they march toward death,
Here thronging myriads laugh and sigh,
Armies, with proud or piteous breath:
Here rise and fall, here live and die:
Forward! the spirit in them saith,
In this vast home.
Spirit of life:

Here the triumphant trumpets blow;

Here mourning music sorrows low;
In long array they march toward death,
Victors and vanquished, still they go
Armies, with proud or piteous breath:
Forward in strife.
Forward! the spirit in them saith,
Who will not heed so great a sight?
Spirit of life:
Greater than marshalled stars of night,
Here the triumphant trumpets blow;
That move to music and with light:
Here mourning music sorrows low;
For these are men!
Victors and vanquished, still they go
These move to music of the soul;
Forward in strife.
Passions, that madden or control:

These hunger for a distant goal,

Seen now and then.
Who will not heed so great a sight?
Is mine too tragical a strain,
Greater than marshalled stars of night,
Chaunting a burden full of pain,
That move to music and with light:
And labour, that seems all in vain?
For these are men!
I sing but truth.
These move to music of the soul;
Still, many a merry pleasure yet,
Passions, that madden or control:
To many a merry measure set,
These hunger for a distant goal,
Is ours, who need not to forget
Seen now and then.
Summer and youth.

Do London birds forget to sing?

Do London trees refuse the spring?
Is mine too tragical a strain,
Is London May no pleasant thing?
Chaunting a burden full of pain,
Let country fields,
And labour, that seems all in vain?
To milking maid and shepherd boy,
I sing but truth.
Give flowers, and song, and bright employ:
Still, many a merry pleasure yet,
Her children also can enjoy,
To many a merry measure set,
What London yields.
Is ours, who need not to forget
Gleaming with sunlight, each soft lawn
Summer and youth.
Lies fragrant beneath dew of dawn;

The spires and towers rise, far withdrawn,

Through golden mist:
Do London birds forget to sing?
At sunset, linger beside Thames:
Do London trees refuse the spring?
See now, what radiant lights and flames!
Is London May no pleasant thing?
That ruby burns: that purple shames
Let country fields,
The amethyst.
To milking maid and shepherd boy,
Winter was long, and dark, and cold:
Give flowers, and song, and bright employ:
Chill rains! grim fogs, black fold on fold,
Her children also can enjoy,
Round street, and square, and river rolled!
What London yields.
Ah, let it beWinter is gone! Soon comes July,

With wafts from hayfields by-and-by:

While in the dingiest courts you spy
Gleaming with sunlight, each soft lawn
Flowers fair to see.
Lies fragrant beneath dew of dawn;
Take heart of grace: and let each hour
The spires and towers rise, far withdrawn,
Break gently into bloom and flower:
Through golden mist:
Winter and sorrow have no power
At sunset, linger beside Thames:
To blight all bloom.
See now, what radiant lights and flames!
One day, perchance, the sun will see
That ruby burns: that purple shames
London's entire felicity:
The amethyst.
And all her loyal children be

Clear of all gloom.

A dream? Dreams often dreamed come true:
Winter was long, and dark, and cold:
Our world would seem a world made new
Chill rains! grim fogs, black fold on fold,
To those, beneath the churchyard yew
Round street, and square, and river rolled!
Laid long ago!
Ah, let it be:
When we beneath like shadows bide,
Winter is gone! Soon comes July,
Fair London, throned upon Thames' side,
With wafts from hayfields by-and-by:
May be our children's children's pride:
While in the dingiest courts you spy
And we shall know.
Flowers fair to see.




Take heart of grace: and let each hour
Break gently into bloom and flower:
Winter and sorrow have no power
To blight all bloom.
One day, perchance, the sun will see
London's entire felicity:
And all her loyal children be
Clear of all gloom.


A dream? Dreams often dreamed come true:
Our world would seem a world made new
To those, beneath the churchyard yew
Laid long ago!
When we beneath like shadows bide,
Fair London, throned upon Thames' side,
May be our children's children's pride:
And we shall know.




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