Exeunt Omnes
Thomas Hardy, Gerald Finzi
I
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
II
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
III
Folk all fade. And whither
As I wait alone where the fair was?
Into the clammy and numbing night-fog
Whence they entеred hither
Soon do I follow thither!