(IN THE UNIVERSITY TOWER: NEW YORK, JULY, 1'63) Is it the wind, the many-tongued, the weird. That cries in sharp distress about the eaves? Is it the wind whose gathering shout is heard With voice of peoples myriad like the leaves? Is it the wind? Fly to the casement, quick, And when the roar comes thick, Fling wide the sash, Await the crash! Nothing. Some various solitary cries, -- Some sauntering woman's short hard laugh, Or honester, a dog's bark, -- these arise From lamplit street up to this free flagstaff: Nothing remains of that low threatening sound; The wind raves not the eaves around. Clasp casement to, -- You heard not true. Hark there again! a roar that holds a shriek! But not without -- no, from below it comes: What pulses up from solid earth to wreck A vengeful word on towers and lofty domes? What angry booming doth the trembling ear, Glued to the stone wall, hear -- So deep, no air Its weight can bear? Grieve! 't is the voice of ignorance and vice,-- The rage of slaves who fancy they are free: Men who would keep men slaves at any price, Too blind their own black manacles to see. Grieve! 't is that grisly spectre with a torch, Riot -- that bloodies every porch, Hurls justice down And burns the town. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CRY OF THE HUMAN by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THREE KINGS OF ORIENT by JOHN HENRY HOPKINS JR. THE DARK MAN by NORA (CHESSON) HOPPER ON THE DEATH OF SIR THOMAS WYATT by HENRY HOWARD THE LADY POVERTY by ALICE MEYNELL |