Song of London

The sun's on the pavement,

The current comes and goes,

And the grey streets of London

They blossom like the rose.

Crowned with the spring sun,

Vistas fair and free;

What joy that waits not?

What that may not be?

The blue-bells may beckon,

The cuckoo call -- and yet --

The grey streets of London

I never may forget.

O fair shines the gold moon

On blossom-clustered eaves.

But bright blinks the gas-lamp

Between the linden-leaves.

And the green country meadows

Are fresh and fine to see,

But the grey streets of London

They're all the world to me.