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Amy Levy - London in July
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What ails my senses thus to cheat?
    What is it ails the place,
That all the people in the street
    Should wear one woman`s face?

The London trees are dusty-brown
    Beneath the summer sky;
My love, she dwells in London town,
    Nor leaves it in July.

O various and intricate maze,
    Wide waste of square and street;
Where, missing through unnumbered days,
    We twain at last may meet!

And who cries out on crowd and mart?
    Who prates of stream and sea?
The summer in the city`s heart—
    That is enough for me.
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