ACROSS the bridge, where in the morning blow The wrinkled tide turns homeward, and is fain Homeward to drag the black sea-goer's chain, And the long yards by Dowgate dipping low; Across dispeopled ways, patient and slow, Saint Magnus and Saint Dunstan call in vain: From Wren's forgotten belfries, in the rain, Down the blank wharves the dropping octaves go. Forbid not these! Tho' no man heed, they shower A subtle beauty on the empty hour, From all their dark throats aching and out-blown; Aye in the prayerless places welcome most, Like the last gull that up a naked coast Deploys her white and steady wing, alone. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SURPRISE AT TICONDEROGA [MAY 10, 1775] by MARY ANNA PHINNEY STANSBURY THE REFORMER by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER TO THE MOCKINGBIRD by RICHARD HENRY WILDE THE PATRIOTIC MERCHANT PRINCE by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS PEACE QUATRAIN by CHARLOTTE LOUISE BERTLESEN THE WANDERER: 2. IN FRANCE: THE NOVEL by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |