Piccadilly poems

I was inspired by the tfl.gov.uk/poems ( poems for passengers on the london underground) as i was sat on the tube, travelling home from lecture today.

So i researched into some artists who have written poems about Piccadilly London.
Here are a few :

Piccadilly Circus at Night

DH Lawrence

Street Walkers
WHEN into the night the yellow light is roused like dust above the towns,  
Or like a mist the moon has kissed from off a pool in the midst of the downs,  
  
Our faces flower for a little hour pale and uncertain along the street,  
Daisies that waken all mistaken white-spread in expectancy to meet  
  
The luminous mist which the poor things wist was dawn arriving across the sky, 
When dawn is far behind the star the dust-lit town has driven so high. 

Piccadilly

Anonymous

 The smoke, the noise, the dust of day,
Have vanished from the scene;
The pale lamps gleam with spirit ray
O'er the park's sweeping green,
Sad shining on her lonely path,
The moon's calm smile above,
Seems as it lulled life's toil and wrath
With universal love.
Past that still hour, and its pale moon,
The city is alive;
It is the busy hour of noon,
When man must seek and strive.
The pressure of our actual life
Is on the waking brow;
Labour and care, endurance, strife.
These are around him now.
How wonderful the common street!
Its tumult and its throng,
The hurrying of the thousand feet
That bear life's cares along.
How strongly is the present felt,
With such a scene beside ;
All sounds in one vast murmur melt
The thunder of the tide.
All hurry on,—none pause to look
Upon another's face:
The present is an open book
None read, yet all must trace.
The poor man hurries on his race,
His daily bread to find;
The rich man has yet wearier chase,
For pleasure's hard to bind.
All hurry, though it is to pass
For which they live so fast,—
What doth the present but amass
The wealth that makes the past?