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.