Louise Imogen Guiney (Луиза Имоджен Гвини)
The Lights of London
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 hasty gleam, London, one moment fallen and forgot. Her booths begin to flare; her gases bright Prick door and window; street and lane 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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