The lengthy train winds out its hissing way,
And leaves the town to dulness and to me.
Now fades the glittering season from the sight—
Belgravia a solemn stillness holds;
The “families” from their mansions take to flight,
And holland, glazed, the furniture enfolds.
“The ring,” deserted, leaves Hyde Park in gloom,
No carriage, phaeton, brougham, four-in-hand;
No dashing cab, no top boot dapper groom,
No haughty coachman, no tall footman bland.