Down in the street the last late hansoms go <br />Still westward, but with backward eyes of red <br />The harlot shuffles to her lonely bed; <br />The tall policeman pauses but to throw <br />A flash into the empty portico; <br />Then he too passes, and his lonely tread <br />Links all the long-drawn gas-lights on a thread <br />And ties them to one planet swinging low. <br />O Hesperus! O happy star! to bend <br />O'er Helen's bosom in the trancèd west-- <br />To watch the hours heave by upon her breast <br />And at her parted lip for dreams attend: <br />If dawn defraud thee, how shall I be deem'd. <br />Who house within that bosom, and am dreamed?<br /><br />Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hesperus/
