 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
BELLS OF LONDON.
As when an eager boy, I heard to-night
The selfsame bells clash out upon the air,
It seemed not then a city of despair,
But a fair home of promise and delight,—
This London that now breaks me with its might.
Is this the end of all sweet dreams and fair?
Is this the bitter answer to my prayer?
The bells deride me from the belfry's height,—
The selfsame bells clash out upon the air,
It seemed not then a city of despair,
But a fair home of promise and delight,—
This London that now breaks me with its might.
Is this the end of all sweet dreams and fair?
Is this the bitter answer to my prayer?
The bells deride me from the belfry's height,—
“We clamored to thee in the old, far years,
And all the sorrows of thy life forecast;
And now, with eyes uncomforted by tears,
And dry and seared as by a furnace-blast,
Thou walkest vainly where no hope appears,
Between veiled future and disastrous past.”
And all the sorrows of thy life forecast;
And now, with eyes uncomforted by tears,
And dry and seared as by a furnace-blast,
Thou walkest vainly where no hope appears,
Between veiled future and disastrous past.”
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |