Here dwell together still two men of note;
Who never lived and, therefore, can never die.
How very near they seem, yet how remote.
That age before the world went all awry.
But still the game's afoot for those with ears
Attuned to catch that distant view-halloe.
England is England yet, for all our fears;
Only those things the heart believes are true.
A yellow fog swirls past the window pane,
As night descends upon this fabled street;
A lonely hansom splashes through the rain;
The ghostly gas-lamps fail at twenty-feet.
Here, though the world explode, these two servive,
And it is always 1895.
Vanessa Wangen
