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 | The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder |  |
III
My chimney is builded
Of red and gray granite:
Of great split boulders
Are its thighs and its shoulders;
Its mouth—try to span it.
Of red and gray granite:
Of great split boulders
Are its thighs and its shoulders;
Its mouth—try to span it.
'T is a nine-foot block—
The shelf that hangs over
The stout hearth-rock.
Then the lines they upswell
Like a huge church-bell,
Or a bellying sail
In a stiff south gale
When the ship rolls well,
With a blue sky above her.
The shelf that hangs over
83
Then the lines they upswell
Like a huge church-bell,
Or a bellying sail
In a stiff south gale
When the ship rolls well,
With a blue sky above her.
| The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | |