- America
-
- Although she feeds me bread of
bitterness,
- And sinks into my throat her tiger's
tooth,
- Stealing my breath of life, I will
confess
- I love this cultured hell that tests
my youth!
- Her vigor flows like tides into my
blood,
- Giving me strength erect against her
hate.
- Her bigness sweeps my being like a
flood.
- Yet as a rebel fronts a king in
state,
- I stand within her walls with not a
shred
- Of terror, malice, not a word of
jeer.
- Darkly I gaze into the days ahead,
- And see her might and granite
wonders there,
- Beneath the touch of Time's unerring
hand,
- Like priceless treasures sinking in
the sand.
|
The White City
- I will not toy with it nor bend an
inch.
- Deep in the secret chambers of my
heart
- I muse my life-long hate, and
without flinch
- I bear it nobly as I live my part.
- My being would be a skeleton, a
shell,
- If this dark Passion that fills my
every mood,
- And makes my heaven in the white
world's hell,
- Did not forever feed me vital blood.
- I see the mighty city through a
mist--
- The strident trains that speed the
goaded mass,
- The poles and spires and towers
vapor-kissed,
- The fortressed port through which
the great ships pass,
- The tides, the wharves, the dens I
contemplate,
- Are sweet like wanton loves because
I hate.
|
