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.
