Beyond Battersea Bridge is a little creek, and from a small house on the other side of the road Turner used to look out upon the river. He came here incognito from his real house in Queen Anne Street, and studied the gorgeous sunset effects, which can be seen nowhere better than at Chelsea.
Now in his palace of the west,
Sinking to slumber, the bright day,
Like a tired monarch fanned to rest,
Mid the cool airs of evening lay;
While round his couch's golden rim
The golden clouds like courtiers crept,
Struggling each other's light to dim,
And catch his last smile ere he slept.
—Moore.