Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch

Here you will find the Poem Twilight of poet Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch


By W?ll?m C?wp?r.
'Tis evening. See with its resorting throng 
Rude Carfax teems, and waistcoats, visited 
With too-familiar elbow, swell the curse 
Vortiginous. The boating man returns, 
His rawness growing with experience? 
Strange union! and directs the optic glass 
Not unresponsive to Jemima's charms, 
Who wheels obdurate, in his mimic chaise 
Perambulant, the child. The gouty cit, 
Asthmatical, with elevated cane 
Pursues the unregarding tram, as one 
Who, having heard a hurdy-gurdy, girds 
His loins and hunts the hurdy-gurdy-man, 
Blaspheming. Now the clangorous bell proclaims 
The Times or Chronicle, and Rauca screams 
The latest horrid murder in the ear 
Of nervous dons expectant of the urn 
And mild domestic muffin. 
To the Parks 
Drags the slow Ladies' School, consuming time 
In passing given points. Here glow the lamps, 
And tea-spoons clatter to the cosy hum 
Of scientific circles. Here resounds 
The football-field with its discordant train, 
The crowd that cheers but not discriminates, 
As ever into touch the ball returns 
And shrieks the whistle, while the game proceeds 
With fine irregularity well worth 
The paltry shilling.? 
Draw the curtains close 
While I resume the night-cap dear to all 
Familiar with my illustrated works.