I sold my brownstone windows full of leaves, moved to where the stern stones of corporations sun-glower windows down at me. The only green is the hanging gardens of Manhattan where terrace steps on leafy terrace blooming geraniums, clematis, and pastel profusions of petunias. I'd expected the querulous exchanges of cars and trucks, the garbage dinosaurs at 2 AM which grind up restaurant trash between their molars, but not St. Thomas's bells jubilating on Sunday morning or to wake at midnight in a past century to horses' hooves, their clopping rhythm muffled in fresh snow. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ODE TO THE CUCKOO by MICHAEL BRUCE THE LATEST DECALOGUE by ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH FREDERICK DOUGLASS by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR A BETTER ANSWER (TO CHLOE JEALOUS) by MATTHEW PRIOR ALASTOR; OR, THE SPIRIT OF SOLITUDE by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: PROEM by ALFRED TENNYSON |