“I have gone at dusk through narrow streets…” t.s. eliot

I have gone at dusk through narrow streets watched the raindrops fall on the black of man-holes waited patiently at the doorstep sighing now only the chimneys crying! At night there is a breaking down of roles as all the weary walk home through dirty streets and each waits for the yellow light that greets them warmly, hanging up their souls on coathooks and leads them down the hall where perhaps, supper waits- but that is not the important thing the stars line up when the evening rings the others may wait at the gate and the street-steam may sleep outside my wall.