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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=447585" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Scenes In London I - Piccadilly</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">THE sun is on the crowded street, <br>It kindles those old towers;<br>Where England's noblest memories meet,<br>Of old historic hours.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Vast, shadowy, dark, and indistinct,<br>Tradition's giant fane,<br>Whereto a thousand years are linked,<br>In one electric chain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So stands it when the morning light<br>First steals upon the skies;<br>And shadow'd by the fallen night,<br>The sleeping city lies.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It stands with darkness round it cast,<br>Touched by the first cold shine;<br>Vast, vague, and mighty as the past,<br>Of which it is the shrine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Tis lovely when the moonlight falls<br>Around the sculptured stone<br>Giving a softness to the walls,<br>Like love that mourns the gone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then comes the gentlest influence<br>The human heart can know,<br>The mourning over those gone hence<br>To the still dust below.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The smoke, the noise, the dust of day,<br>Have vanished from the scene;<br>The pale lamps gleam with spirit ray<br>O'er the park's sweeping green.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sad shining on her lonely path,<br>The moon's calm smile above,<br>Seems as it lulled life's toil and wrath<br>With universal love.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Past that still hour, and its pale moon,<br>The city is alive;<br>It is the busy hour of noon,<br>When man must seek and strive.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The pressure of our actual life<br>Is on the waking brow; <br>Labour and care, endurance, strife,<br>These are around him now.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How wonderful the common street,<br>Its tumult and its throng,<br>The hurrying of the thousand feet<br>That bear life's cares along.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How strongly is the present felt,<br>With such a scene beside;<br>All sounds in one vast murmur melt<br>The thunder of the tide.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All hurry on—none pause to look<br>Upon another's face:<br>The present is an open book<br>None read, yet all must trace.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The poor man hurries on his race,<br>His daily bread to find;<br>The rich man has yet wearier chase,<br>For pleasure's hard to bind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All hurry, though it is to pass<br>For which they live so fast—<br>What doth the present but amass,<br>The wealth that makes the past.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The past is round us—those old spires<br>That glimmer o'er our head;<br>Not from the present is their fires,<br>Their light is from the dead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But for the past, the present's powers<br>Were waste of toil and mind;<br>But for those long and glorious hours<br>Which leave themselves behind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Letitia+Elizabeth+Landon">Letitia Elizabeth Landon</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=447585" data-title="Scenes In London I - Piccadilly de Letitia Elizabeth Landon" data-description="THE sun is on the crowded street, 
It kindles those old towers;
Where England's noblest memories meet,
Of old historic hours.

Vast, shadowy, dark, and indistinct,
Tradition's giant fane,
Whereto a thousand years are linked,
In one electric chain...."></div>
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