Earth has not anything to show more dreary,

Blessed with the flocks of pigeons yearly.

A sight so effective in its dullness,

I do so yawn and I must confess,

The residents must have poor taste, or so I guess.

Pubs, railways, terrace roofs and tarmac,

And think I know what doth this city lack,

But a tree or a flower's back.

Ne'er did the sun bare London more,

So would it hide thy dirty city, I implore?

Ne'er saw I, never smelt I, a scent so whiffy!

That I had better leave, and pretty nifty:

Dear God! What tasteless architecture of modern;

So it is here that I should ne'er have trodden!