The beauty of a city seems to be Not in the architecture, or a spire, Nor edifice, or spider-work of wire; For beauty is too wild, untamed, and free To stay concrete, inert, for all to see, Dressing a structure in the drab attire That clothes embodiments of our desire To build in stone, some strange hyperbole. The beauty of a city seems aloof -- Long undiscovered by a stranger there, But we, who daily weave its warp and woof, May pick the tangled threads up everywhere: It is the friendliness of market places In the rain; and smiles on passing faces. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BALLADE MADE FOR HIS MOTHER THAT SHE MIGHTE PRAYE by FRANCOIS VILLON ON THE PORTRAIT OF SHAKESPEARE by BEN JONSON GRIN by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE TOLEDO CAPTURED BY THE FRANKS by AL-ASSAL THE CHEAT OF CUPID; OR THE UNGENTLE GUEST by ANACREON TWENTY BLOCKS by EGMONT HEGEL ARENS |