I am the ghost of Shadwell Stair. <br />Along the wharves by the water-house, <br />And through the cavernous slaughter-house, <br />I am the shadow that walks there. <br /> <br />Yet I have flesh both firm and cool, <br />And eyes tumultuous as the gems <br />Of moons and lamps in the full Thames <br />When dusk sails wavering down the pool. <br /> <br />Shuddering the purple street-arc burns <br />Where I watch always; from the banks <br />Dolorously the shipping clanks <br />And after me a strange tide turns. <br /> <br />I walk till the stars of London wane <br />And dawn creeps up the Shadwell Stair. <br />But when the crowing syrens blare <br />I with another ghost am lain.<br /><br />Wilfred Owen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/shadwell-stair/
