 | The poems of Thomas Bailey Aldrich |  |
IN THE BELFRY OF THE NIEUWE KERK
(AMSTERDAM)
Not a breath in the stifled, dingy street!
On the Stadhuis tiles the sun's deep glow
Lies like a kind of golden snow;
In the square one almost sees the heat.
The mottled tulips over there
By the open casement pant for air.
Grave, portly burghers, with their vrouws,
Go hat in hand to cool their brows.
On the Stadhuis tiles the sun's deep glow
Lies like a kind of golden snow;
In the square one almost sees the heat.
The mottled tulips over there
By the open casement pant for air.
Grave, portly burghers, with their vrouws,
Go hat in hand to cool their brows.
But high in the fretted steeple, where
The sudden chimes burst forth and scare
The lazy rooks from the belfry rail,
Up here, behold! there blows a gale—
Such a wind as bends the forest tree,
And rocks the great ships out at sea!
The sudden chimes burst forth and scare
The lazy rooks from the belfry rail,
Up here, behold! there blows a gale—
365
And rocks the great ships out at sea!
Plain simple folk, who come and go
On humble levels of life below,
Little dream of the gales that smite
Mortals dwelling upon the height.
On humble levels of life below,
Little dream of the gales that smite
Mortals dwelling upon the height.
| The poems of Thomas Bailey Aldrich | |