London

Athwart the sky a lowly sigh From west to east the sweet wind carried; The sun stood still on Primrose Hill; His light in all the city tarried: The clouds on viewless columns bloomed Like smouldering lilies unconsumed. “O sweetheart, see! how shadowy, Of some occult magician’s rearing, Or swung in space of heaven’s grace Dissolving, dimly reappearing, Afloat upon ethereal tides, St. Paul’s above the city rides!” A rumor broke through the thin smoke Enwreathing abbey, tower, and palace, The parks, the squares, the thoroughfares, The million-peopled lanes and alleys, An ever-muttering prisoned storm, The heart of London beating warm.