D.H. Lawrence (1885–1930). Amores. 1916.
29. At the Window
T
Something which sets the black poplars ashake with hysterical laughter;
While slowly the house of day is closing its eastern shutters.
Winding about their dimness the mist’s grey cerements, after
The street lamps in the darkness have suddenly started to bleed.
To the face that leans from the darkness, intent, with two dark-filled eyes
That watch for ever earnestly from behind the window glass.