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Poem by Amy Levy


A London Plane-Tree


Green is the plane-tree in the square,
The other trees are brown;
They droop and pine for country air;
The plane-tree loves the town.

Here from my garret-pane, I mark
The plane-tree bud and blow,
Shed her recuperative bark,
And spread her shade below.

Among her branches, in and out,
The city breezes play;
The dun fog wraps her round about;
Above, the smoke curls grey.

Others the country take for choice,
And hold the town in scorn;
But she has listened to the voice
On city breezes borne.



Amy Levy


Amy Levy's other poems:
  1. On the Wye in May
  2. On the Threshold
  3. The Two Terrors
  4. The Old Poet
  5. To E.


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