I will not toy with it nor bend an inch. Deep in the secret chambers of my heart I muse my life-long hate, and without flinch I bear it nobly as I live my part. My being would be a skeleton, a shell, If this dark Passion that fills my every mood, And makes my heaven in the white world's hell, Did not forever feed me vital blood. I see the mighty city through a mist -- The strident trains that speed the goaded mass, The poles and spires and towers vapor-kissed, The fortressed port through which the great ships pass, The tides, the wharves, the dens I contemplate, Are sweet like wanton loves because I hate. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NAPEOLON'S FAREWELL; FROM THE FRENCH by GEORGE GORDON BYRON A BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 8 by THOMAS CAMPION MY LADY'S PLEASURE by ROBERT GRAHAM THE BLACK FINGER by ANGELINA WELD GRIMKE THE WINDOW; OR, THE SONG OF THE WRENS: THE LETTER by ALFRED TENNYSON PROMETHEUS BOUND: PROMETHEUS IN THE EARTHQUAKE by AESCHYLUS |