 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
LONDON, FROM FAR.
Afar from all this country peace it lies,
Tremendous and inscrutable for gloom,—
The dreadful, fateful City of my doom
I know its lurid, fog-invested skies;
I know what pestilential odors rise
From court and alley, each a living tomb;
I know the tainted flowers, by night that bloom
Along its wayside, — flowers men spurn and prize.
Tremendous and inscrutable for gloom,—
The dreadful, fateful City of my doom
I know its lurid, fog-invested skies;
I know what pestilential odors rise
From court and alley, each a living tomb;
I know the tainted flowers, by night that bloom
Along its wayside, — flowers men spurn and prize.
I know the strife and the unceasing din,—
The utmost blackness of its heart I know;
I hear their shrieks and groans who toil within,
And cries of those it murdered long ago,—
Yet 'mid the twisted growths of Shame and Sin,
One woodland flower of memory shall grow.
The utmost blackness of its heart I know;
I hear their shrieks and groans who toil within,
And cries of those it murdered long ago,—
Yet 'mid the twisted growths of Shame and Sin,
One woodland flower of memory shall grow.
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |