 | Joaquin Miller's Poems |  |
XXIII
“What's London town but sorrow's townAnd sins, such as I dare not name?
Such thousands creeping up and down
Its dreary streets in draggled shame!
What's London but a market pen—
Its hundred thousand lewd, rude men?
What's London but a town of stone,
Its thousand thousand women prone?
| Joaquin Miller's Poems | |