O there are streets of gold in Bethnal Green,
With troughs of pearl where lovely horses drink,
And tripping on the greenswards, silver-clean,
The girls are marvellouser than you can think.
Gawd blimey! Bethnal Green!
(All this from Tommy Jones,
Delirious in the trench with shattered bones).
O there is harvest now in Camden Town,
And songs and laughing and old flasks of wine!
O the grand moon of bronze! the wakeful brown
Owl in the barn! ghost-poppies and dream-kine!
Lor lumme! Camden Town!
(This with the gasp of death
From 'Erbert, chlorine-gassed and green for breath).
O what green seas sweep winds through Camberwell,
Through all her islands where the palm-trees heave!
O winding down the channels steals a bell
Calling poor weary lads to bathe at eve!
God blawst it! Camberwell!
(This from old Bob, whose side
Is pierced with wounds like Jesus crucified).