London is love without hope, as when the young bird-catcher swept off his tall hat to the Lords disciple. So let the imprisoned larks escape and fly - Singing about their head as they preach...For the hope of London

I am a keeper of sheep's in London town,
The sheep are my thoughts
And my thoughts are all sensations.
I think with my eyes and ears
And with my hands and feet
and with my nose and mouth.

To think a flower is to see it and smell it
Like the fume of London streets
And to eat a fruit is to taste its meaning,
Like meaningless London...