The Song of Six Suburbs

(After The Song of the Cities)



Though far outside the radius you roam,

   Where shall a fairer prospect meet the eyes?

Brand new, like Aphrodite from the foam

                          The homes of Brixton Rise.


Supreme am I, Suburbia’s guiding star,

   And when I speak, let lesser tongues be dumb;

The prefix “Upper” shows the class we are;

                           Where Tooting beckons, Come!


Upon your North West Passage scale my heights,

   And mark the joyous crowds that sport beneath;

Men call me “Happy”:  O the strange delights,

                            The dalliance on my Heath!


A peaceful calm envelopes every street,

   And like an old world idyl, life drift by

Where else such courtly couples will you meet

                            A-comin’ through the Rye.


Under my yoke my stalwarts meekly bend:

   Daily, between the hours of 8 and 9.

To dare worse horrors than the Pit I send

                            Sons of the Chatham line.


“Last, loveliest, exquisite”, I give to those

   Civilian warriors from India rest;

What suburb boasts the dignified repose

                             That clings to Ealing, W.