I TO NONE the city bends a servile knee; Purse-proud and scornful, on her heights she stands, And at her feet the great white moaning sea Shoulders incessantly the grey-gold sands,— One the Almighty's child since time began, And one the might of Mammon, born of clods; For all the city is the work of man, But all the sea is God's. II And she—between the ocean and the town— Lies cursed of one and by the other blest: Her staring eyes, her long drenched hair, her gown, Sea-laved and soiled and dank above her breast. She, image of her God since life began, She, but the child of Mammon, born of clods, Her broken body spoiled and spurned of man, But her sweet soul is God's. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FAREWELL TO LOVE by JOHN DONNE THE PHANTOM SHIP by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW IKE WALTON'S PRAYER by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY AMERICAN THEMES FOR A GILBERT by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS BOX-CAR LETTERS by KARLE WILSON BAKER THE LAY OF THE OLD WOMAN CLOTHED IN GREY; A LEGEND OF DOVER by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM MISTRESS FATE by WILLIAM ROSE BENET |