Yes! urban is your Muse, and owns
An empire based on London stones;
Yet flow'rs, as mountain violets sweet,
Spring from the pavement‘ neath her feet.
Of wilder birth this Muse of mine,
Hill-cradled, and baptized with brine;
And‘ tis for her a sweet despair
To watch that courtly step and air!
Yet surely she, without reproof,
Greeting may send from realms aloof,
And even claim a tie in blood,
And dare to deem it sisterhood.
For well we know, those Maidens be
All daughters of Mnemosyne;
And‘ neath the unifying sun,
Many the songs — but Song is one.