 | [Poems by Woolson in] Constance Fenimore Woolson |  |
CONTRAST.
Six O'Clock; Broadway.
Snow, snow,—all the night full of crystal snowing,
Blow, blow,—all the light cannot stop the blowing;
Wind and snow go whirling down the brilliant street, the cold street,
Feathered flakes and eddies drown the young feet, the old feet,
Moving onward, living waves, past the frigid windows' stare,
Human toilers, human slaves through the freezing yellow glare,
And I am one,—who but I? yet my heart sings, sings,
As the blast, rushing by, double contrast brings, brings—
“Far away my Love lies
By the southern sea,
True her heart, blue her eyes,
And she waits for—me!”
Blow, blow,—all the light cannot stop the blowing;
Wind and snow go whirling down the brilliant street, the cold street,
Feathered flakes and eddies drown the young feet, the old feet,
Moving onward, living waves, past the frigid windows' stare,
Human toilers, human slaves through the freezing yellow glare,
And I am one,—who but I? yet my heart sings, sings,
As the blast, rushing by, double contrast brings, brings—
“Far away my Love lies
By the southern sea,
True her heart, blue her eyes,
And she waits for—me!”
Fleet, fleet, phosphor-gleams shine upon the river,
Sweet, sweet, tropic dreams in the jasmine quiver;
Orange-scents are filling all the lambent air, the warm air,
Moonlight on the old sea-wall falling fair, cloudless fair,
Northern troubles all at rest, there they sit with idle speech,
Listening while the ocean's breast heaves against the silver beach,
And she is one—my own Love; yet her heart sings, sings.
As the soft night above double contrast brings, brings,—
“Far away the snow drives
By the northern sea,
Long he toils, strong he strives,
And it is for—me!”
Sweet, sweet, tropic dreams in the jasmine quiver;
Orange-scents are filling all the lambent air, the warm air,
Moonlight on the old sea-wall falling fair, cloudless fair,
Northern troubles all at rest, there they sit with idle speech,
Listening while the ocean's breast heaves against the silver beach,
And she is one—my own Love; yet her heart sings, sings.
As the soft night above double contrast brings, brings,—
“Far away the snow drives
By the northern sea,
Long he toils, strong he strives,
And it is for—me!”
Constance Fenimore Woolson.
| [Poems by Woolson in] Constance Fenimore Woolson | |