THE city is like a vague dream-tapestry On which are breathed, not woven, shapes of blue: Perhaps they are towers and wet slopes of roof, Perhaps they are only my embodied dreams: For the city is strangely still as if it were dead, And my soul had built on the dusk a city new; Its only life in the lights that glow aloof, Its only movement, the unseen traffic-streams. O city of my desire! It rains in you, A slow incessant fall of quiet showers: The blue sky melts to grey, pale the lights glow, And all is still, while sunless move the hours. Could you be ever thus, half-hid from sight, I would think, grey one, that your rain was my grief: And so, content, know hope and calm delight, Watching my sorrow find in night relief. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ASPIRATIONS OF A COUNTRY LAD by GEORGE SANTAYANA FACADE: 24. AN OLD WOMAN LAMENTS IN SPRINGTIME by EDITH SITWELL THE SELF-SEEKER by ROBERT FROST WRITTEN IN KEATS' 'ENDYMION' by THOMAS HOOD PRAISE OF WATER by THEODORE FAULLAIN DE BANVILLE |