The Lights of London

The Lights of London

THE evenfall, so slow on hills, hath shotFar down into the valley’s cold extreme,Untimely midnight; spire and roof and streamLike fleeing spectres, shudder and are not.The Hampstead hollies, from their sylvan plotYet cloudless, lean to watch as in a dream,From chaos climb with many a sudden gleam,London, one moment fallen and forgot.Her booths begin to flare; and gases brightPrick door and window; all her streets obscureSparkle and swarm with nothing true nor sure,Full as a marsh of mist and winking light;Heaven thickens over, Heaven that cannot cureHer tear by day, her fevered smile by night.

THE evenfall, so slow on hills, hath shotFar down into the valley’s cold extreme,Untimely midnight; spire and roof and streamLike fleeing spectres, shudder and are not.The Hampstead hollies, from their sylvan plotYet cloudless, lean to watch as in a dream,From chaos climb with many a sudden gleam,London, one moment fallen and forgot.Her booths begin to flare; and gases brightPrick door and window; all her streets obscureSparkle and swarm with nothing true nor sure,Full as a marsh of mist and winking light;Heaven thickens over, Heaven that cannot cureHer tear by day, her fevered smile by night.

THE evenfall, so slow on hills, hath shotFar down into the valley’s cold extreme,Untimely midnight; spire and roof and streamLike fleeing spectres, shudder and are not.The Hampstead hollies, from their sylvan plotYet cloudless, lean to watch as in a dream,From chaos climb with many a sudden gleam,London, one moment fallen and forgot.

THE evenfall, so slow on hills, hath shot

Far down into the valley’s cold extreme,

Untimely midnight; spire and roof and stream

Like fleeing spectres, shudder and are not.

The Hampstead hollies, from their sylvan plot

Yet cloudless, lean to watch as in a dream,

From chaos climb with many a sudden gleam,

London, one moment fallen and forgot.

Her booths begin to flare; and gases brightPrick door and window; all her streets obscureSparkle and swarm with nothing true nor sure,Full as a marsh of mist and winking light;Heaven thickens over, Heaven that cannot cureHer tear by day, her fevered smile by night.

Her booths begin to flare; and gases bright

Prick door and window; all her streets obscure

Sparkle and swarm with nothing true nor sure,

Full as a marsh of mist and winking light;

Heaven thickens over, Heaven that cannot cure

Her tear by day, her fevered smile by night.


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