Primrose Hill

Wild heart in me that frets and grieves, Imprisoned here against your will . . . Sad heart that dreams of rainbow wings See! I have found some golden things! The poplar trees on Primrose Hill With all their shining play of leaves . . . And London like a silver bride, That will not put her veil aside! Proud London like a painted Queen, Whose crown is heavy on her head . . . City of sorrow and desire, Under a sky of opal fire, Amber and amethyst and red . . . And how divine the day has been! For every dawn God builds again This world of beauty and of pain . . . Wild heart that hungers for delight, Imprisoned here against your will; Sad heart, so eager to be gay! Loving earth’s lovely things . . . the play Of wind and leaves on Primrose Hill . . . Or London dreaming of the night . . . Adventurous heart, on beauty bent, That only Heaven could quite content!