PETER PIGEON

THE pigeons dwell in Pimlico; they mingle in the street;

They flutter at Victoria around the horses' feet;

They fly to meet the royal trains with many a loyal phrase

And strut to meet their sovereign on strips of scarlet baize;

But Peter, Peter Pigeon, salutes his cradle days.

The pigeons build in Bloomsbury; they rear their classic homes

Where pedants clamber sable steps to search forgotten tomes;

They haunt Ionic capitals with learned lullabies

And each laments in anapaests and in iambics cries;

But Peter, Peter Pigeon, how sleepily he sighs!

The pigeons walk the Guildhall; they dress in civic taste

With amplitude of mayoral chain and aldermanic waist;

They bow their grey emphatic heads, their topknots rise and fall,

They cluster in the courtyard at their midday dinner call;

But Peter, Peter Pigeon, he nods beneath my shawl.

The pigeons brood in Battersea; while yet the dawn is dark

Their ready aubade ripples in the plane-trees round the park;

They light upon your balcony, a brave and comely band,

Till night decoys their coral feet, their voices low and bland;

But Peter, Peter Pigeon, his feet are in my hand.


"I AM GLAD THE MARTINS ARE
BUILDING AGAIN...."

I AM glad the martins are building again,

They had all departed

From the old deserted

House by the stream;

Its windows were black to the snow and the rain

And the sky and the sun,

And the river sobbed on,

Like a child in a dream,

Under the unlopped sycamore boughs

That stifled the old stone house.

Now the axe-edge is blue on the sycamore rind,

By the workers huzza'd

Till the ashlared façade

Outpeers its disguise;

Now little white curtains flap out to the wind

Across the grey sills

And summer instils

The peace of the skies

And the zest of the sun into every old room

So given to grief and gloom.

And the children who wake the green walks with their mirth

And lift the shy heads

Of the flowers from their beds,

By a strange cry stirred—

Desert their dear pastime, look up from the earth,

Up, up, through the leaves

Where under the eaves

Clings the back of the bird:

And his nest-mate white-throated regards the new day

From her arch of inverted clay.