As drone the idle, laugh the lewd.
The city hath no solemn night
Like that which shades the dewy lawn,
But with a lurid, ghastly light,
Beshames the gloom, and mocks the dawn.
Still as the restless watches wore
Sir Self the stony footway paced,
Till morning waved the city o’er
Her filmy wings gold-interlaced.
But still through all the midnight blind,