THE greenish sky glows up in misty reds,
⁠The purple shadows turn to brick and stone,
The dreams wear thin, men turn upon their beds,
⁠And hear the milk-cart jangle by alone.

The city's street, a roaring blackened stream
⁠Walled in by granite, thro' whose thousand eyes
A thousand yellow lights begin to gleam,
⁠And over all the pale untroubled skies.

The street-lamps shine in a yellow line
⁠Down the splashy, gleaming street,
And the rain is heard now loud now blurred
⁠By the tread of homing feet.