Down in the street the last late hansoms go
Still westward, but with backward eyes of red
The harlot shuffles to her lonely bed;
The tall policeman pauses but to throw
A flash into the empty portico;
Then he too passes, and his lonely tread
Links all the long-drawn gas-lights on a thread
And ties them to one planet swinging low.
O Hesperus! O happy star! to bend
O’er Helen’s bosom in the tranc
(Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch)
More Poetry from Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch:
- A Letter (Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch Poems)
- Fire! (Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch Poems)
- Anecdote For Fathers (Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch Poems)
- Christmas Eve (Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch Poems)
- De Tea Fabula (Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch Poems)
- Almer Mater (Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch Poems)