London By A. S. J. Tessimond
Where the eyes of rich and poor collide and wonder;
Where the beggar's voice is low and unexpectant,
And in clubs the feet of the servants are soft on the carpet
And the world's wind scarcely stirs the leaves of The Times.
I am the reticent, the private city,
The city of lovers hiding wrapped in shadows,
The city of people sitting and talking quietly
Beyond shut doors and walls as thick as a century,
People who laugh too little and too loudly,
Whose tears fall inward, flowing back to the heart.
I am the city whose fog will fall like a finger gently
Erasing the anger and angles, the strident indecorous gesture,
Whose dusk will come like tact, like a change in the conversation,
Violet and indigo, with strings of lemon streetlamps
Casting their pools into the pools of rain
As the notes of the piano are cast from the top-floor window
Into the square that is always Sunday afternoon.
Copyright © A. S. J. Tessimond
NOTE:- The poem is a descriptive one, describing London. The fractions, the people's behavior, the common things found around are all talked about with the use of good imageries and similes.
Arthur Seymour John Tessimond aka A.S.J. Tessimond was an English poet born in Birkenhead, 19 July 1902 but died in Chelsea, London 13 May 1962.