 | Poems |  |
117
[X. Ye mournful walls, that with a look of woe]
Ye mournful walls, that with a look of woe,Idly stand gazing in each other's face;
Ye eager, soulless crowds that coldly pass
Forever 'neath those walls darkly contrived,
And streets that are the wards of Misery;
Thou poor, and hunger-stricken, needless Town,
That I delved lonely on some sea-washed moor,
Delved with a hand of Pain the barren sands,
All day beneath the scorching eye of Heaven,
Or vacantly stood cold within the wind,
Where rugged Winter nursed his rugged child,
Yea! on some bleak, bare, desolate place of rock,
Yea! anywhere but here, in these dim shades,
Within your shades, you high and gloomy walls.
For I have been a walker in the fields,
Oft in the woodland arches have I played,
Seen many times the golden Day-god roll
His round, expanded eyelids in the West,
And bravely flaming, bid the world good-night,
118
Hath played her ivory songs beneath the fringe,
That night hangs over edged about with stars,
But thou, sad City, thou art not for me.
| Poems | |