When I go out into the world To see the wonders there unfurl’d, Though marvelling much, when I lie down My thoughts fly back to my own town. Memories of familiar streets Comfort me under foreign sheets And Cockney humour brings the laugh When _bocks_ of foreign beer I quaff.
My thoughts fly home. I see again Remembered houses, roads and men. The great town grows before my eyes, I hear its murmurs and its sighs, Travel, in dreams, the streets I knew And roam from Greenwich Park to Kew.
I love to think of bland Pall Mall (Where Charles made love to Pretty Nell) And rich South Audley Street, and Wapping, And Bond Street and the Christmas shopping, Knightsbridge, the Inner Circle train, And Piccadilly and Park Lane; Kensington, where “nice” people live Who give you tea (top-hat) at five; And Church Street, and that little path Which leads to the Broad Walk and the Pond Where boys sail boats and sparrows bath— And the dear woodland slope beyond....
I love Hyde Park, the Serpentine, And Marble Arch at half-past nine, The graceful curve of Regent Street, The Queen Anne charm of Cheyne Walk (Its church, with Polyphemus’ eye, And those great chimneys, climbing the sky!)— The Inns of Court and that discreet Tavern where Johnson used to talk; The bustle of Fleet Street and the blare Of Oxford Circus, Leicester Square; Charing Cross Road, with books for all In shop and window, case and stall; Imperial Westminster, the Stores, Where Colonel Tompkins buys cigars; The Athenæum, where he snores; The “Troc,” and several other bars; The hall where Marie makes us roar With jokes our consciences deplore And where dear Vesta Tilley sings —Our “London Idol,” bless her heart!— Where Robey leaps on from the wings, And good old X forgets her part.
Then who can think of Richmond Hill In summertime, without a thrill?— Remembering days with Rose or Nan When friendship ended, love began, And glamorous evenings in the park Under the beech trees hush’d and dark— The deer at gaze with glistening eyes, The London lights aglow in the skies (But far away) and no sound there Save the caught breath and little sighs That come from joy too great to bear.
Richmond, all London lovers know Your upland glades, and how, below, The bright Thames twines about your knees Through the green tracery of your trees.... And just as I on Whitsunday, Have brought my girl to spend the day, So to your hill my fathers came And, sure, my son will do the same.