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tioner har hensat en Broncekumme med Blomster.
Men se: der kommer Morgenens første Sporvogn
duvende gennem Vester Voldgade, frem imod
Raadhuspladsen. Saa lille den syner i Gadens
lange Perspektiv og dens brede Munding, hvor
Raadhustaarnets Hundrede Meter høje Mure stiger
lodret op fra Fortovet. Uret deroppe over de svim-
melhøje Balkoner falder til Slag — og Tonerne fra
de fire Vægtervers flagrer som en usynlig Dueflok
ud over Pladsen, ud over Byen og Havnen, efter
fulgt af Timeslagenes tunge Drøn, der runger af
Sol og Luft og Hav!
En Damper tuder i Sundet.
Ogsaa denne Tone, der er saa typisk for Køben
havn, synes et Nu at staa dirrende over Raadhus
taarnets Spir — som selve den gyldne Vejrhanes
Morgengal.
Men vi springer paa Sporvognen og ruller med
henover Pladsen. I en Kurve svinger vi forbi
Dcig-
marteatret,
hen over Axeltorv og atter ud paa den
brede Vesterbrogade midt for »Tivoli«s Hovedind
gang. Vi faar et Glimt ai Havens grønne Alléer og
Plæner, Koncertsalens orientalske Kupler — og
kan hænde et Strejf af Minder fra en eller anden
sun as the cyclists hurry off along the Street,
resembling the glimmering light from shoals of
herrings, darting in and out between motor cars
and trams in the stream of traffic.
However, all this happens in the later hours of
the day. At this beautiful morning hour in the
square the eye is more apt to be caught by the
swarm of pigeons amidst tlie battlements on the
wings of the town hall, and in the walks of the
adjoining garden, or by their flight wlien circling
in flocks over the building of
the industrial asso
ciation
and
Tivoli,
the
Glyptothec
and
Dante’s
square,
where the gift of the city of Rome to Co
penhagen, an anlique marble column, stands
handsomely against the background of the trees,
bearing the »Genius of Poetry« high up towards
the scintillating blue sky.
The sun plays on the gilded ball on the slender
tower of the
Palads Hotel
on the opposite side, but
the facade itself with the many furled sunshades
and the place in front w ith the
Lur blowers column
lies in the shade. The pavement café under the
laurel trees presents a drowsy and deserted appear-
ance. The so called mussel sliell in front of the
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