M. Compton Mackenzie (1883–1972)

To F. C. M.

MY dear, the time has come to say

Farewell to London town,

Farewell to each familiar street,

The room where we look’d down

Upon the people going by,

The river flowing fast:

The innumerable shine of lamps,

The bridges and—our past.

Our past of London days and nights,

When every night we dream’d

Of Love and Art and Happiness,

And every day it seem’d,

Ah! little room, you held my life,

In you I found my all;

A white hand on the mantelpiece,

A shadow on the wall.

My dear, what dinners we have had,

What cigarettes and wine

In faded corners of Soho,

Your fingers touching mine!

And now the time has come to say

Farewell to London town;

The prologue of our play is done,

So ring the curtain down.

There lies a crowded life ahead

In field and sleepy lane,

A fairer picture than we saw

Framed in our window-pane.

There’ll be the stars on summer nights,

The white moon thro’ the trees,

Moths, and the song of nightingales

To float along the breeze.

And in the morning we shall see

The swallows in the sun,

And hear the cuckoo on the hill

Welcome a day begun.

And life will open with the rose

For me, sweet, and for you,

And on our life and on the rose

How soft the falling dew!

So let us take this tranquil path,

But drop a parting tear

For town, whose greatest gift to us

Was to be lovers here.