Classic Poem

Where London sprawls across the gentle fields,
In those far fringes where the green begins —
Eltham and Enfield, Southall and Wanstead Flat —
The landscape but a loveless prospect yields:
Wan grass, the last week's washing, a dead cat,
Factories, maisonettes, and sardine-tins.

Yet even here the honeysuckle blows,
And the shy nightingale enchants the gloom;
And sometimes I have seen the wayside rose
Kissing the hawthorn bough by Barking Fair.
And when the evening flowers with lights of home,
Each window seems a little silent prayer.