DOWN the quiet eve,
Thro’ my window with the sunset
Pipes to me a distant organ
Foolish ditties;
And, as when you change
Pictures in a magic lantern,
Books, beds, bottles, floor, and ceiling
Fade and vanish,
And I’m well once more . . .
August flares adust and torrid,
But my heart is full of April
Sap and sweetness.
In the quiet eve
I am loitering, longing, dreaming . . .
Dreaming, and a distant organ
Pipes me ditties.
I can see the shop,
I can smell the sprinkled pavement,
Where she serves—her chestnut chignon
Thrills my senses!
O, the sight and scent,
Wistful eve and perfumed pavement!
In the distance pipes an organ . . .
The sensation
Comes to me anew,
And my spirit for a moment
Thro’ the music breathes the blessèd
Airs of London.