Classic Poem

Enough of lanes, and trees, and valleys green,
Enough of briery wood, and hot chalk-down,
I hate the startling quiet of the scene,
And long to hear the gay glad hum of town:
My garden be the garden of the Graces,
Flow'rs full of smiles, with fashion for their queen,
My pleasent fields be crowds of joyous faces,
The brilliant rout, the concert, and the ball,
These be my joys in endless carnival!
For I do loathe that sickening solitude,
That childish hunting up of flies and weeds,
Or worse, the company of rustics rude,
Whose only hopes are bound in clods and seeds;
Out on it! let me live in town delight,
And, for your tedious country-mornings bright,
Give me gay London with its noon and night.