THE DUSK of day’s decline was hard on dark <br />When evening trembled round thy glowworm lamp <br />That shone across her shades and dewy damp <br />A small clear beacon whose benignant spark <br />Was gracious yet for loiterers’ eyes to mark, <br />Though changed the watchword of our English camp <br />Since the outposts rang round Marlowe’s lion ramp, <br />When thy steed’s pace went ambling round Hyde Park. <br /> <br />And in the thickening twilight under thee <br />Walks Davenant, pensive in the paths where he, <br />The blithest throat that ever carolled love <br />In music made of morning’s merriest heart, <br />Glad Suckling, stumbled from his seat above <br />And reeled on slippery roads of alien art.<br /><br />Algernon Charles Swinburne<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/james-shirley-xiv/
