Whilst the greatest effort has been made to ensure the quality of this text, due to the historical nature of this content, in some rare cases there may be minor issues with legibility. A London Plane-Tree.<br><br>Green is the plane-tree in the square, <br>The other trees are brown;<br>They droop and pine for country air;<br>The plane-tree loves the town.<br><br>Here from my garret-pane, I mark<br>The plane-tree bud and blow, <br>Shed her recuperative bark, <br>And spread her shade below.<br><br>Among her branches, in and out, <br>The city breezes play;<br>The dun fog wraps her round about;<br>Above, the smoke curls grey.<br><br>Others the country take for choice, <br>And hold the town in scorn;<br>But she has listened to the voice<br>On city breezes borne.