Verse > Anthologies > Louis Untermeyer, ed. > Modern British Poetry
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Louis Untermeyer, ed. (1885–1977). Modern British Poetry.  1920.
 
F. S. Flint. 
 
153. London
 
LONDON, my beautiful, 
it is not the sunset 
nor the pale green sky 
shimmering through the curtain 
of the silver birch,         5
nor the quietness; 
it is not the hopping 
of birds 
upon the lawn, 
nor the darkness  10
stealing over all things 
that moves me. 
  
But as the moon creeps slowly 
over the tree-tops 
among the stars,  15
I think of her 
and the glow her passing 
sheds on men. 
  
London, my beautiful, 
I will climb  20
into the branches 
to the moonlit tree-tops, 
that my blood may be cooled 
by the wind. 
 
 
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