(AMSTERDAM.) NOT a breath in the stifled, dingy street! On the Stadhuis tiles the sun's strong glow Lies like a kind of golden snow. In the square one almost sees the heat. The mottled tulips over there By the open casement pant for air. Grave, portly burghers, with their vrouws, Go hat in hand to cool their brows. But high in the fretted steeple, where The sudden chimes burst forth and scare The lazy rooks from the belfry beam, And the ring-doves as they coo and dream On flying-buttress or carven rose -- Up here, mein Gott! a tempest blows!-- Such a wind as bends the forest tree, And rocks the great ships out at sea. Plain simple folk, who come and go On humble levels of life below, Little dream of the gales that smite Mortals dwelling upon the height! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BALLAD WHICH ANNE ASKEW MADE AND SANG WHEN SHE WAS IN NEWGATE by ANNE ASKEWE THE LITTLE DANCERS by LAURENCE BINYON EXCELSIOR by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 21 by OMAR KHAYYAM THE SEA by BRYAN WALLER PROCTER AMORETTI: 37 by EDMUND SPENSER |