Here you will find the Poem Sonnet of poet Charles Lamb
The Lord of Life shakes off his drowsihed, And 'gins to sprinkle on the earth below Those rays that from his shaken locks do flow; Meantime, by truant love of rambling led, I turn my back on thy detested walls, Proud city! and thy sons I leave behind, A sordid, selfish, money-getting kind; Brute things, who shut their ears when Freedom calls. I pass not thee so lightly, well-known spire, That mindest me of many a pleasure gone, Of merrier days, of love and Islington; Kindling afresh the flames of past desire. And I shall muse on thee slow journeying on To the green plains of pleasant Hertfordshire. 1795.
