Middlesex
Gaily into Ruislip
Runs the red electric train,
With a thousand Ta's and
Daintily alights Elaine;
Hurries down the concrete
With a frown of concentration,
Out into the outskirt's
Where a few surviving
Keep alive our lost Elysium - rural Middlesex again.
Well cut Windsmoor flapping lightly,
Jacqmar scarf of mauve and
Hiding hair which,
Friday nightly,
Delicately drowns in Dreen;
Fair Elaine the bobby-soxer,
Fresh-complexioned with Innoxa,
Gains the garden - father's hobby -Hangs her Windsmoor in the lobby,
Settles down to sandwich supper and the television screen.
Gentle Brent,
I used to know
Wandering Wembley-wards at will,
Now what change your waters show
In the meadowlands you fill!
Recollect the elm-trees
And the footpaths climbing
Under cedar-shaded palings,
Low laburnum-leaned-on
Out of Northolt on and upward to the heights of Harrow hill.
Parish of enormous
Perivale stood all alone,
And from Greenford scent of
Most enticingly was
Over market gardens tidy,
Taverns for the bona fide,
Cockney singers, cockney shooters,
Murray Poshes,
Lupin Pooters,
Long in Kelsal Green and Highgate silent under soot and stone.
Sir John Betjeman
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