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AmyLowell:NewYorkatNight

A near horizon whose sharp jags

Cut brutally into a sky

Of leaden heaviness, and crags

Of houses lift their masonry

Ugly and foul, and chimneys lie

And snort, outlined against the gray

Of lowhung cloud. I hear the sigh

The goaded city gives, not day

Nor night can ease her heart, her anguished labours stay.

Below, straight streets, monotonous,

From north and south, from east and west,

Stretch glittering; and luminous

Above, one tower tops the rest

And holds aloft mans constant quest:

Time! Joyless emblem of the greed

Of millions, robber of the best

Which earth can give, the vulgar creed

Has seared upon the night its flaming ruthless screed.

O Night! Whose soothing presence brings

The quiet shining of the stars.

O Night! Whose cloak of darkness clings

So intimately close that scars

Are hid from our own eyes. Beggars

By day, our wealth is having night

To burn our souls before altars

Dim and tree-shadowed, where the light

Is shed from a young moon, mysteriously bright.

Where art thou hiding, where thy peace?

This is the hour, but thou art not.

Will waking tumult never cease?

Hast thou thy votary forgot?

Nature forsakes this man-begot

And festering wilderness, and now

The long still hours are here, no jot

Of dear communing do I know;

Instead the glaring, man-filled city groans below!

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