Dawn comes up on London, <br />And night's undone. <br />Stars are routed <br />And street lamps outed. <br />Sodden great clouds begin sail again <br />Like all-night anchored galleons to the main <br />From careful shallows to the far-withdrawn <br />Wide outer seas of sky, <br />Sleepers above river change their pain, <br />Lockhart's shows lively up Blackfriars Lane <br />Motors dash by <br />With 'Mirrors', 'Mails', 'Telegraphs' what not? <br />South shore of Thames on London shows a blot, <br />And first careful coffee-stall is withdrawn. <br /> <br />Only the poet strolls about at ease, <br />Wondering what mortal thing his soul may please, <br />And spitting at the drains, while Paul's as ever <br />Is mighty and a king of sky and river, <br />And cares no more, Much-Father, for this one <br />Broke child, although a poet-born and clever, <br />Than any spit-kid of seven million, <br />Must drudge all daylight till his earnings done. <br />A huffier has her red sails just a quiver; <br />Sun's very near now and the tide's a-run.<br /><br />Ivor Gurney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/london-dawn/
