EXEUNT OMNES

Everybody else, then, going, And I still left where the fair was? . . . Much have I seen of neighbour loungers Making a lusty showing, Each now past all knowing.

There is an air of blankness In the street and the littered spaces; Thoroughfare, steeple, bridge and highway Wizen themselves to lankness; Kennels dribble dankness.

Folk all fade. And whither, As I wait alone where the fair was? Into the clammy and numbing night-fog Whence they entered hither. Soon do I follow thither!