O 'DIM, rich city' of the quick and dead, With ample dome and solemn minster crowned, Where rest the peaceful bones of men renowned, Amid the restless throng who toil for bread! How hardly is thy weary riddle read! How slowly is its destined answer found! For some, indeed, have all things and abound, And some, alas! have neither board nor bed. When on thy glooming Thames the sunlight gleams, I wonder, seeing how beautiful thou art, What blood and tears thy ransom still may cost. Brave sons and true thou hast, and noble dreams, But ever, deep within thy passionate heart, I hear the muffled moaning of the lost. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MOUNTAIN WATER by SARA TEASDALE ON LUCY, COUNTESS OF BEDFORD by BEN JONSON THE SHEPHERD OF KING ADMETUS by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL AN ESSAY ON MAN by ALEXANDER POPE I SHALL NOT CARE by SARA TEASDALE THE EUMENIDES: CHORUS by AESCHYLUS |