The Hampstead hollies, from their sylvan plot
Yet cloudless, lean to watch, as in a dream,
From chaos climb, with many a hasty gleam,
London, one moment fallen and forgot.
Her booths begin to flare; her gases bright
Prick door and window; street and lane obscure
Sparkle and swarm with nothing true nor sure,
Full as a marsh of mist and winking light:
Heaven thickens over, heaven that cannot cure
Her tear by day, her fevered smile by night.