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Wilfrid Scawen Blunt - Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: XX
Work rating: Low

I fled into the bosom of the night,
 Leaving the Fair behind me. I had need
 Of the sweet healing darkness to my sight,
 As a bruise needs a poultice. And in speed
 I went thus half through Lyons, loath to win
 Back to the crowd, and doubly loath to go
 Thus foolishly transfigured to my inn.
 Strange fateful night! Even to this hour `tis so.
 Night in a city with the distant hum
 Of laughing crowds, the silence of strange streets,
 My own mute footfalls and the redolent gloom
 Of oil--lit thresholds brings it back and cheats
 My sorrow still to the last dreams of good
 I dreamed that evening in my solitude.
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