I, who have lost the stars, the sod, For chilling pave and cheerless light, Have made my meeting-place with God A new and nether Night -- Have found a fane where thunder fills Loud caverns, tremulous; -- and these Atone me for my reverend hills And moonlit silences. A figment in the crowded dark, Where men sit muted by the roar, I ride upon the whirring Spark Beneath the city's floor. In this dim firmament, the stars Whirl by in blazing files and tiers; Kin meteors graze our flying bars, Amid the spinning spheres. Speed! speed! until the quivering rails Flash silver where the head-light gleams, As when on lakes the Moon impales The waves upon its beams. Life throbs about me, yet I stand Outgazing on majestic Power; Death rides with me, on either hand, In my communion hour. You that 'neath country skies can pray, Scoff not at me -- the city clod; -- My only respite of the Day Is this wild ride -- with God. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BEFORE MARCHING, AND AFTER (IN MEMORIAM F.W.G.) by THOMAS HARDY SPECIMEN OF AN INDUCTION TO A POEM by JOHN KEATS UPON THE IMAGE OF DEATH by ROBERT SOUTHWELL RAIN by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON TO CHILDREN: 6. BIRDS OF THE AIR by WILLIAM ROSE BENET TO THE PRESIDENT OF MAGDALEN COLLEGE, OXFORD by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES |