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Transport for London MAYOR OF LONDON tfl.gov.uk/poems Francis Thompson At Lord’s It is little I repair to the matches of the Southron folk, Though my own red roses there may blow; It is little I repair to the matches of the Southron folk, Though the red roses crest the caps, I know. For the field is full of shades as I near the shadowy coast, And a ghostly batsman plays to the bowling of a ghost, And I look through my tears on a soundless-clapping host As the run-stealers flicker to and fro, To and fro: O my Hornby and my Barlow long ago!

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Page 1: The 074 poems_v3

Transport for LondonMAYOR OF LONDON

tfl.gov.uk/poems

Francis Thompson

At Lord’s

It is little I repair to the matches of the Southron folk,Though my own red roses there may blow;

It is little I repair to the matches of the Southron folk,Though the red roses crest the caps, I know.

For the field is full of shades as I near the shadowy coast,And a ghostly batsman plays to the bowling of a ghost,And I look through my tears on a soundless-clapping host

As the run-stealers flicker to and fro,To and fro: –

O my Hornby and my Barlow long ago!

Page 2: The 074 poems_v3

Transport for LondonMAYOR OF LONDON

tfl.gov.uk/poems

from JerusalemThe fields from Islington to Marybone,To Primrose Hill and Saint John’s Wood,

Were builded over with pillars of gold,And there Jerusalem’s pillars stood.

Pancrass & Kentish-town reposeAmong her golden pillars high,

Among her golden arches whichShine upon the starry sky.

The Jew’s-harp-house & the Green Man,The Ponds where Boys to bathe delight,

The fields of Cows by Willan’s farm,Shine in Jerusalem’s pleasant sight.

William Blake

Page 3: The 074 poems_v3

Transport for Londontfl.gov.uk/poemsMAYOR OF LONDON

Our Meetings

As in the Underground there’s no mistakingthe train’s approach, it pushes air ahead,whirls paper, the line sings, a sort-of dreadsuffusing longing and my platform shaking – so it is before our every meeting,till you arrive. Hear how my heart is beating!Andrew Waterman

Reprinted by permission of Carcanet from Collected Poems 1959-1999 (2000)

Page 4: The 074 poems_v3

Transport for LondonMAYOR OF LONDON

tfl.gov.uk/poems

R. P. ListerReprinted by permission

of The New Yorker Magazine

© Condé Nast

Buses on the StrandThe Strand is beautiful with buses,

Fat and majestical in form,Red like tomatoes in their trusses

In August, when the sun is warm.

They cluster in the builded chasm,Corpulent fruit, a hundred strong,

And now and then a secret spasmSpurs them a yard or two along.

Scarlet and portly and seraphic,Contented in the summer’s prime,

They beam among the jumbled traffic,Patiently ripening with time,

Till, with a final jerk and rumble,The Strand tomatoes, fat and fair,

Roll past the traffic lights and tumbleGleefully down Trafalgar Square.

Page 5: The 074 poems_v3

Transport for LondonMAYOR OF LONDON

tfl.gov.uk/poems

Thom GunnReprinted by permission of Faber from Collected Poems (1993)

The Conversation of Old Men

He feels a breeze rise fromthe Thames, as far off as Rotherhithe, inintimate contact withwater, slimy hulls, dark wood greenish at waterline – touching then leaving what it lightly touches; he goes on talking, and this is the life of wind on water.

Page 6: The 074 poems_v3

Transport for LondonMAYOR OF LONDON

tfl.gov.uk/poems

Grace NicholsReprinted by permission of Bloodaxe from Picasso, I Want My Face Back (2009)

Moment in a Peace MarchA holy multitude pouring through the gates of Hyde Park –A great hunger repeated in cities all over the world

And when one hejab-ed womanstumbled in the midsthow quickly she was uplifted –With no loaves and no fish

Only the steadying doves of our armsagainst the spectre of another war.