It was in a drear city by a stream, And all its denizens were sad to me, -- I could not fathom what their life could be -- Their passage in the morning like a dream In the arc-light's unnatural bluish beam, Then back, at night, like drowned men from the sea, Up from the mills and river hurriedly, In weeds of labor, to the shriek of steam. Yet I supposed that they had all one hope With me (there is but one.) I would go out, When happier ones drew in for fear of doubt, Breasting their current, resolute to cope With what thoughts they compelled who thronged the street, Less to the sound of voices than of feet. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 97. AL-WARITH by EDWIN ARNOLD FIRST VOYAGE OF COLUMBUS by JOANNA BAILLIE ON FILE by JOHN KENDRICK BANGS THE CENTAUR'S FAREWELL by WILLIAM ROSE BENET SONNET: CLEAVE THOU THE WAVES by MATHILDE BLIND POUR QUI SAIT ATTENDRE by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE NEWPORT TOWER by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD THE OLD CAMP COFFEE-POT (WRITTEN FOR EBEN W. MARTIN) by CHARLES BADGER CLARK JR. |