A thousand miles and more to the westward,
Somewhere the city lies,
I strain mine eyes for the glare reflected
Up in the starlight skies.
I strain mine ears for the roll and roaring,
The laugh of the passers by,
But only the trees on the far horizon,
Only the open sky.
A plover’s call in the stillness rises,
A lamb in the marshes bleats-
But O! for the lights and the passing faces!
And O! for the city’s streets!
Francis Kenna (1915).