Transport for LondonPoem for the day
The Faun
In this middle of the sporting green
Taunts an old terra-cotta faun;
Predicting, no doubt, a sour outcome
To those idylls, so serene,
Which lured us, melancholy pilgrims,
To this meeting, already fleeting,
To the skirl of a tambourines.
Taunts an old terra-cotta faun;
Predicting, no doubt, a sour outcome
To those idylls, so serene,
Which lured us, melancholy pilgrims,
To this meeting, already fleeting,
To the skirl of a tambourines.
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