CLOSE OF THE SEASON.

Suddenly, joyfully,

Leaving the Row,

The London Belle

Is beginning to go.

Cover the couches

And shut out the light,

Calls cease in the morning,

And parties at night.

Closed are the windows,

And out is the fire.

The knockers are silent

All footmen retire.

No groom in the chambers,

No porter in hall:

Dust and brown holland

Reign over all!

II.

The season is ended,

And closed like the play,

And the swells that adorned it

Vanish away.

Dim grow its dances,

Forgotten they'll be,

Like the ends of cigars,

Thrown into the sea.

Squares lapse into silence,

The Railways are full

The windows are papered,

The West End is dull.

Fewer and fewer

The people to call

Sweeps and the charwoman,

Reign over all.