A long way past me into the night.
Skirting the common, then diverging;
Not a few suddenly emerging
From the common's self through the paling-gaps,
—They house in the gravel-pits perhaps,
Where the road stops short with its safeguard border
Of lamps, as tired of such disorder;—
But the most turned in yet more abruptly
Prom a certain squalid knot of alleys,
Where the town's bad blood once slept corruptly,