A near horizon whose sharp jags Cut brutally into a sky Of le Of lowhung cloud. I hear the sigh The goaded city gives, not day Nor night can ease her heart, her anguished labours stay. Below, straight streets, monotonous, From north and south, from east and west, Stretch glittering; and luminous Above, one tower tops the rest And holds aloft man's constant quest: Time! Joyless emblem of the greed Of millions, robber of the best Which earth can give, the vulgar creed Has seared upon the night its flaming ruthless screed. O Night! Whose soothing presence brings The quiet shining of the stars. O Night! Whose cloak of darkness clings So intimately close that scars Are hid from our own eyes. Beggars By day, our wealth is having night To burn our souls before altars Dim and tree-shadowed, where the light Is shed from a young moon, mysteriously bright. Where art thou hiding, where thy peace? This is the hour, but thou art not. Will waking tumult never cease? Hast thou thy votary forgot? Nature forsakes this man-begot And festering wilderness, and now The long still hours are here, no jot Of dear communing do I know; Instead the glaring, man-filled city groans below! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU by ROBERT BURNS SONNET by DAVID HARTLEY COLERIDGE TO E. T.: 1917 by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE THE BELEAGUERED CITY by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE ALLIGATOR by BEATRICE WITTE RAVENEL SONNET TO THE MOON by HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS |