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With thrice great Hermes, or unsphear
The spirit of Plato to unfold

What Worlds, or what vast Regions hold
The immortal mind that hath forsook
Her mansion in this fleshly nook:
And of those Daemons that are found
In fire, air, flood, or under ground,
Whose power hath a true consent
With Planet or with Element.
Som time let Gorgeous Tragedy
In Scepter'd pall com sweeping by,
Presenting Thebs, or Pelops line,
Or the tale of Troy divine.

Or what (though rare) of later age,
Ennobled hath the Buskind stage. .
And if ought els, great Bards beside,
In sage and solemn tunes have sung,
Of Turneys and of Trophies hung;
Of Forests, and inchantments drear,
Where more is meant than meets the ear.

GOING UP TO LONDON

BY NANCY BYRD TURNER

"As I went up to London,"

I heard a stranger say-
Going up to London

In such a casual way!

He turned the magic phrase
That has haunted all my days

As though it were a common thing For careless lips to say.

As he went up to London!

I'll wager many a crown

He never saw the road that I
Shall take to London town.

When I go up to London
'Twill be in April weather.
I'll have a riband on my rein
And flaunt a scarlet feather;

The broom will toss its brush for me;
Two blackbirds and a thrush will be
Assembled in a bush for me

And sing a song together.

And all the blossomy hedgerows
Will shake their hawthorn down

As I go riding, riding

Up to London town.

Halting on a tall hill
Pied with purple flowers,
Twenty turrets I shall count,
And twice as many towers;
Count them on my finger-tip
As I used to do,

And half a hundred spires
Pricking toward the blue.
There will be a glass dome
And a roof of gold,

And a latticed window high
Tilting toward the western sky,
As I knew of old.
London, London,

They counted me a fool

I could draw your skyline plain
Before I went to school!

Riding, riding downward
By many a silver ridge

And many a slope of amethyst,
I'll come to London Bridge-
London Bridge flung wide for me,
Horses drawn aside for me,
Thames my amber looking-glass
As I proudly pass;

Lords and flunkies, dukes and dames,
Country folk with comely names
Wondering at my steadfast face,
Beggars curtsying,

Footmen falling back a space;

I would scarcely stay my pace
If I met the King!

If I met the King himself

He'd smile beneath his frown:
"Who is this comes traveling up
So light to London town?"

Riding, riding eagerly,

Thrusting through the throng,

(Traveling light, Your Majesty,
Because the way was long),

I'll hurry fast to London gate,
(The way was long, and I am late),

I'll come at last to London gate,

Singing me a song

Some old rhyme of ancient time

When wondrous things befell.

And there the boys and girls at play,
Understanding well,

Quick will hail me, clear and sweet,
Crowding, crowding after;

Every little crooked street

Will echo to their laughter;

Lilting, as they mark my look,

Chanting, two and two,

Dreamed it, dreamed it in a dream

And waked and found it true!

Sing, you rhymes, and ring, you chimes,

And swing, you bells of Bow!

When I go up to London

All the world shall know!

TARTARY

BY WALTER DE LA MARE

If I were Lord of Tartary,
Myself and me alone,

My bed should be of ivory,

Of beaten gold my throne;

And in my court should peacocks flaunt, And in my forests tigers haunt,

And in my pools great fishes slant

Their fins athwart the sun.

If I were Lord of Tartary,
Trumpeters every day

To every meal should summon me,
And in my courtyard bray;

And in the evening lamps would shine,
Yellow as honey, red as wine,

While harp, and flute, and mandoline, Made music sweet and gay.

If I were Lord of Tartary,
I'd wear a robe of beads,

White, and gold, and green they'd be—
And clustered thick as seeds;

And ere should wane the morning-star,
I'd don my robe and scimitar,
And zebras seven should draw my car
Through Tartary's dark glades.

Lord of the fruits of Tartary,
Her rivers silver-pale!

Lord of the hills of Tartary,

Glen, thicket, wood, and dale!

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