Out of the cleansing night of stars and tides, Building itself anew in the slow dawn, The long sea-city rises: night is gone, Day is not yet; still merciful, she hides Her summoning brow, and still the night-car glides Empty of faces; the night-watchmen yawn One to the other, and shiver and pass on, Nor yet a soul over the great bridge rides. Frail as a gossamer, a thing of air, A bow of shadow o'er the river flung, Its sleepy masts and lonely lapping flood; Who, seeing thus the bridge a-slumber there, Would dream such softness, like a picture hung, Is wrought of human thunder, iron and blood? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BEAUTIFUL SNOW by JOHN WHITAKER WATSON FORMALITY AND THE SOUL: 2. JAMES MACNEIL WHISTLER by KARL W. BIGELOW PETRUCHIO'S WIFE by AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR DON JUAN: CANTO 7 by GEORGE GORDON BYRON LUCIETTA. A FRAGMENT by GEORGE GORDON BYRON IN DEDICATION OF 'THE CERTAIN HOUR' by JAMES BRANCH CABELL BALLAD TO THE TUNE - 'I WOULD GIVE TWENTY POUND' by PATRICK CAREY |