I'm posting this Thomas Hardy poem today because it was written on 9th October, 1924. It's always strange to be reminded that Hardy lived into the world of motor-cars and telegraph-wires; for some contemporary colour, you might like to listen to this as you read the poem.
Tree-leaves labour up and down,
And through them the fainting light
Succumbs to the crawl of night.
Outside in the road the telegraph wire
To the town from the darkening land
Intones to travellers like a spectral lyre
Swept by a spectral hand.
A car comes up, with lamps full-glare,
That flash upon a tree:
It has nothing to do with me,
And whangs along in a world of its own,
Leaving a blacker air;
And mute by the gate I stand again alone,
And nobody pulls up there.