“And this is why I sojourn here
Alone, and idly loitering,
Tho’ all the season’s through and tho’
No ‘stars’ now sing!”
The Figaro. September 15, 1875.
——:o:——
A Song after Sunset.
The breeze o’er the bridge was a-blowing,
O’er wicked and wan Waterloo,
The busses buzzed, coming and going,