O London holds the hearts of men, 



And London's paved with gold; 

 But ah, to hear the lark again, 



And see the buds unfold! 



London stole my youth away 

 The while she gave me bread; 



She killed my soul from day to day, 

 And gave me gold instead. 



But in the twilight cold and gray, 

 Above the city's voice 



1 hear the mowers mow the hay, 

 I hear the birds rejoice. 



J. A. Middleton, "Exile." 



