Explore "Chelsea" by Paul Bewsher on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
How many of those youths who consecrate / Their lives to art, and worship at her shrine, / And sacrifice their early hours and late / In serving her exacting whims divine / Have gathered in old Chelsea's shaded peace, / Whose faint, elusive charm, and gentle airs, / Bring inspiration fresh, and sweet release / From Trouble's haunting shapes and goblin cares?
O! tree-embowered hamlet, whose demesne / Sleeps in the arms of London quietly, / Whose sparrow-haunted roads, and squares serene, / From all the stress of life seem ever free -- / O! are you more than just a passing dream / Beside the city's slim and lovely stream?