Seek nought more sweet than dull forgetfulness
In the short night's scant slumbers."
"Too sombre Spirit, hath the opening year
No scenes of gayer hope and gentler cheer?
Is all beneath night's curtain
In this vast city void of promise glad?
Are all the guests of midnight spectres sad,
And suffering and uncertain?"
So I addressed the Shadow. "Friend," he smiled.
"'Twas 'lurid London' that you wished 'untiled.'