 | Fantasy and Passion |  |
168
CITY WINDOWS.
Through many an evening, while my spirit gains,
Amid the populous city's ebb and flow,
A keener sense of solitude than they know
Who dwell on desolate hills or houseless plains,
I roam long streets where dubious dimness reigns,
Where bright inscrutable windows calmly glow,
And with mysterious pleasure, as I go,
Shape weird conjectures from the illumined panes!
Amid the populous city's ebb and flow,
A keener sense of solitude than they know
Who dwell on desolate hills or houseless plains,
I roam long streets where dubious dimness reigns,
Where bright inscrutable windows calmly glow,
And with mysterious pleasure, as I go,
Shape weird conjectures from the illumined panes!
In yonder room two amorous hearts may thrill;
Some fiery quarrel, here, may grow apace;
There may some vigilant mother, pale and still,
Bend in deep agony o'er a wasting face;
And here a murderess by some bed may spill
The deadly colorless drop that leaves no trace!
Some fiery quarrel, here, may grow apace;
There may some vigilant mother, pale and still,
Bend in deep agony o'er a wasting face;
And here a murderess by some bed may spill
The deadly colorless drop that leaves no trace!
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