Country lovers play at love
In a scene all laid for loving.
Marriage-making stars above
Gossip and wink and look approving,
While the moon with maudlin beam
Gilds the sentimental air,
And lends the glamour of a dream
To eye and hand, to lip and hair;
Long dewy lanes invite the feet
And all the silver dusk is sweet
With unimaginable roses;
And round the heart enchantment closes,
And the whole world's a lovers' tale
Spun by the moon and the nightingale.
O love's a simple word to say
With nature aiding and abetting;
And love's an easy part to play
On such a stage, in such a setting.
London lovers lack the aid
Of such poetic properties:
In uninspiring streets are played
Their love-scenes and their ecstasies.
They are not coached by moon or star
Or prompted by the nightingale;
On Shepherd's Bush no roses are;
There lies no dew in Maida Vale.
London lovers see instead
Electric sky-signs overhead,
Jarring upon romantic mood
With eulogies of patent food.
For them no peace when twilight falls,
Only the noise of busy places,
The drabness of a thousand walls,
The staring of a thousand faces.
Yet London man to London maid
Makes his undaunted serenade:
Enraptured and oblivious
He woos her-on a motor-bus.
proudly down each thoroughfare
Go London lovers two by two:
For London love is staunch and rare
And brave and difficult and true;
And seven times sweet is each caress
Snatched from a world of ugliness.