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Robert Laurence Binyon - November
Work rating: Low

Together we laughed and talked in the warm--lit room:
 Out now, alone I come
 Into the street, in the fall of the early night.
 Shadowy skies, with a pale uncertain gloom,
 Hover above the houses dim; but bright
 In wetness mirrored far,
 Retreating lamps outshine the lingering light.
 Hazily blue the air, heavy with dews
 The wind; and before me the cries and the crowd,
 And the sleepless murmur of wheels; not loud,
 For a magical softness all imbrues.
 The softness estranges my sense: I see and I hear,
 But know `tis a vision intangible, shapes that seem.
 All is unreal; the sound of the falling of feet,
 Coming figures, and far--off hum of the street;
 A dream, the gliding hurry, the endless lights,
 Houses and sky, a dream, a dream!
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