London, Fare Thee Well. Poem by Samuel Bamford

Sunny light is breaking
Over dale and hill;
Nature is awaking
From her slumber chill:
Winds that blow around us
Whisper softly bland,
While the streams that bound us
Murmur through the land.
Should I for the city
Leave the vocal dell?
'Twere indeed a pity—
London, fare thee well!
Whilst my heart's contented,
Let it so remain;
Luxuries unwanted
I can yet disdain;
And, should I be gazing
At your ladies fair,
Might not such amazing
Beauty cause despair?
Rather would I meet one
Lonely in the dell,
And steal a kiss, a sweet one,—
London, fare thee well!
Come, ye days of pleasure;
Come, ye rosy hours;
Bring mine hidden treasure
From her inmost bowers;
With her melting kisses
At the burning noon;
With her deeper blisses
'Neath the clouded moon;
Waters are the sweetest
Taken at the well;
Love is ever greatest
When there's none to tell.