Out of the cleansing night of stars and tides, Building itself anew in the slow dawn, The long sea-city rises: night is gone, Day is not yet; still merciful, she hides Her summoning brow, and still the night-car glides Empty of faces; the night-watchmen yawn One to the other, and shiver and pass on, Nor yet a soul over the great bridge rides. Frail as a gossamer, a thing of air, A bow of shadow o'er the river flung, Its sleepy masts and lonely lapping flood; Who, seeing thus the bridge a-slumber there, Would dream such softness, like a picture hung, Is wrought of human thunder, iron and blood? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A CHRISTMAS CAROL (1) by GILBERT KEITH CHESTERTON INTERIM by CLARISSA SCOTT DELANY LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI by JOHN KEATS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER by THOMAS MOORE MUSIC IN CAMP by JOHN REUBEN THOMPSON |