The sky was glad of the towers of trade, The massive buildings regally tall; Festoons of welcome the swinging birds made, And the holy air encircled them all. "Now, at last," said the brooding sky, "The city has risen above its cares, Its falsenesses and its dreary sigh, Its empty pride and its cruel snares." But the towers of trade kept their sin and shame In that fair new region so pure and sweet; Among the clouds they were still the same, -- Only a gloomily deeper street. |