WESTERN BLOOD by JULIET WILBOR TOMPKINS

MY TOWER faces south and north,
And east it opens wide,
But not a window pane looks forth
Upon the western side.

I gaze out north on city roofs,
And south on city smoke,
And to the east are throbbing hoofs,
The rush of city folk;

But not a ray of western light
May fall across my work,
No crevice opens to the night
Where western eyes may lurk;

My crowded days are spent in quest
Of eager city things,
And when the little birds fly west,
I would not hear their wings.

But they who once have climbed the Town,
When daylight lingered late,
And watched the western sun go down
Athwart the burnished Gate,

And felt the rolling fogs descend,
And seen the lupine blown,
And known what things a western friend
May offer to his own,

'Ah, they can never hush for long—
He knew what would be best
Who built my tower high and strong,
And closed it to the west.

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