Thomas Hardy (2 June 1840 – 11 January 1928 / Dorchester / England)
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 one more goes thither!
Comments about this poem (Exeunt Omnes by Thomas Hardy )
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