The city slowly wakes: Her every chimney makes Offering of smoke against the cool white skies. Slowly the morning shakes The lingering shadowy flakes Of night from doors and windows, from the city's eyes. A breath through heaven goes: Leaves of the pale sweet rose Are strewn along the clouds of upper air. Healer of ancient woes, The palm of dawn bestows Peace on the feverish brow, comfort on grim despair. Now the celestial fire Fingers the sunken spire, Crocket by crocket swiftly creepeth down; Brushes the maze of wire, Dewy, electric lyre, And with a silent hymn one moment fills the town. A sound of pattering hoofs Above the emergent roofs And anxious bleatings tell the passing herd; Scared by the piteous droves A shoal of skurrying doves Veering, around the island of the church has whirred. Soon through the smoky haze The park begins to raise Its outlines clearer into day lit prose; Ever with fresh amaze The sleepless fountains praise Morn that has gilt the city as it gilds the rose. High in the clear air The smoke now builds a stair Leading to realms no wing of bird has found; Things are more foul, more fair; A distant clock somewhere Strikes, and the dreamer starts at clear reverberant sound. Farther the tide of dark Drains from each square and park; Here is a city fresh and new-create, Wondrous as though the ark Should once again disbark On a remoulded world its safe and joyous freight. Ebbs all the dark, and now Life eddies to and fro By pier and alley, street and avenue: The myriads stir below, As hives of coral grow— Vaulted above, like them with a fresh sea of blue. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GOOD-BYE DOROTHY GAYLE: HOME TO FARGO by KAREN SWENSON SONNET: 22. TO THE SAME [CYRIACK SKINNER] by JOHN MILTON IDYLLS OF THE KING: PELLEAS AND ETTARRE by ALFRED TENNYSON EDITHA by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS ON THE DEATH OF EMILY BRONTE by CHARLOTTE BRONTE |