From Piccadilly In August
Now the trees rest: the moon has taught them sleep, Like drowsy wings of bats are all their leaves, Clinging together. Girls at ease who fold Fair hands upon white necks and through dusk fields Walk all content,--of them the trees have taken Their way of evening rest; the yellow moon With her pale gold has lit their dreams that lisp On the wind's murmuring lips. And low beyond Burn those bright lamps beneath the moon more bright, Lamps that but flash and sparkle and light not The inward eye and musing thought, nor reach Where, poplar-like, that tall-built campanile Lifts to the neighbouring moon her head and feels The pale gold like an ocean laving her.
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"Now the trees rest: the moon has taught them sleep,..."
"From Piccadilly In August" is a quintessential example of John Frederick Freeman's signature style... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...