Helen Parry Eden, Coal and Candlelight, and Other Verses
“ And each laments in anapaests and in iambics cries;But Peter, Peter Pigeon, how sleepily he sighs!The pigeons walk the Guildhall; they dress in civic tasteWith amplitude of mayoral chain and aldermanic waist;They bow their grey emphatic heads, their topknots rise and fall,They cluster in the courtyard at their midday dinner call;But Peter, Peter Pigeon, he nods beneath my shawl.The pigeons brood in Battersea; while yet the dawn is darkTheir ready aubade ripples in the plane-trees round the park ”
