221B
Here dwell together still two men of note
Who never lived and so 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 the distant view-halloo:
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 survive,
And it is always eighteen ninety-five.
– Vincent Starrett
I am in the middle of writing a poem for my next writer's meeting titled "Elementary" as an unexpected twist on our theme- elements. It is, of course, about my very favorite detective, Mr. Holmes. As with my Jane Eyre poem, I feel I can never do such literary genius-justice. Everything seems hollow and false, no matter how hard I really, really try. So this time I succumbed to temptation and looked at what other writers have done with the same theme. MISTAKE! They are all much, much better than mine. Le Sigh. Even still, as my deadline draws closer, it spurs me on to perhaps see if I can gild my tragedy, oooo, maybe I'll use that. In my online wandering, I came across this poem which I especially loved and therefore wanted to post. Enjoy.
