 | [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary with introduction and notes |  |
THE CITY LIFE.
How shall I know thee in that sphere that keeps
The country youth that to the city goes,
When all of thee, that change can wither, sleeps
And perishes among your cast-off clothes?
The country youth that to the city goes,
When all of thee, that change can wither, sleeps
And perishes among your cast-off clothes?
For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain,
If there I meet thy one-horse carriage not;
Nor see the hat I love, nor ride again,
When thou art driving on a gentle trot.
If there I meet thy one-horse carriage not;
Nor see the hat I love, nor ride again,
When thou art driving on a gentle trot.
Wilt thou not for me in the city seek,
And turn to note each passing shawl and gown?
You used to come and see me once a week,—
Shall I be banished from your thought in town?
And turn to note each passing shawl and gown?
You used to come and see me once a week,—
Shall I be banished from your thought in town?
475
In that great street I don't know how to find,
In the resplendence of that glorious sphere,
And larger movements of the unfettered mind,
Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here?
In the resplendence of that glorious sphere,
And larger movements of the unfettered mind,
Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here?
The love that lived through all the simple past,
And meekly with my country training bore,
And deeper grew, and tenderer to the last,
Shall it expire in town, and be no more?
And meekly with my country training bore,
And deeper grew, and tenderer to the last,
Shall it expire in town, and be no more?
A happier lot than mine, and greater praise,
Await thee there; for thou, with skill and tact,
Hast learnt the wisdom of the world's just ways,
And dressest well, and knowest how to act.
Await thee there; for thou, with skill and tact,
Hast learnt the wisdom of the world's just ways,
And dressest well, and knowest how to act.
For me, the country place in which I dwell
Has made me one of a proscribed band;
And work hath left its scar—that fire of hell
Has left its frightful scar upon my hand.
Has made me one of a proscribed band;
And work hath left its scar—that fire of hell
Has left its frightful scar upon my hand.
Yet though thou wear'st the glory of the town,
Wilt thou not keep the same belovéd name,
The same black-satin vest, and morning-gown,
Lovelier in New York city, yet the same?
Wilt thou not keep the same belovéd name,
The same black-satin vest, and morning-gown,
Lovelier in New York city, yet the same?
Shalt thou not teach me, in that grander home,
The wisdom that I learned so ill in this,—
The wisdom which is fine,—till I become
Thy fit companion in that place of bliss?
The wisdom that I learned so ill in this,—
The wisdom which is fine,—till I become
Thy fit companion in that place of bliss?
| [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary with introduction and notes | |