Present the sort of look
The sea did when the savages
Plunged in for Captain Cook;—
I love thee still!—Tho' tarnish'd
Is ev'ry blade and leaf,
Tho' Highgate Fields are bitterness,
And Belsize Park is grief,—
Tho' Brick-kilns are not lovely,
And Railways banish rest,
And Omnibi are hateful