The booths were shut. The Fair was at an end, <br />And the crowd gone with multitudinous feet <br />Noisily home, or lingering still to spend <br />At Café doors or at the turn of the street <br />In twos and threes its laughter with good--night. <br />All turned to silence. Even my heart had peace <br />As, self--possessed and freed from its vain fright, <br />I found myself once more upon the quays. <br />I stopped before the theatre grown dark, <br />With its extinguished lamps and blank repose <br />A scene of melancholy sad to mark, <br />Made sadder too by the white moon which rose <br />Behind it virginal with vaporous wings, <br />Aloof and careless of all earthly things.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/esther-a-sonnet-sequence-xxxi/
