Across the bridge, where in the morning blow
The wrinkled tide turns homeward, and is fain
Homeward to drag the balck sea-goer's chain,
And the long yards by Dowgate dipping low;
Across dispeopled ways, patient and slow,
Saint Magnus and Saint Dunstan call in vain:
>From Wren's forgotten belfries, in the rain,
Down the blank wharves the dropping octaves go.
Forbid not these! Tho' no man heed, they shower
A subtle beauty on the empty hour,
>From all their dark throats aching and outblown;
Aye in the prayerless places welcome most,
Like the last gull that up a naked coast
Deploys her white and steady wing, alone.
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Comments
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I feel there is a melodic feel to this piece. And somewhat guised as well. It is short, but, it speaks in so many volumes.
I picked this piece at random on the list, I find that humorous.
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I love how she describes the sound of the bell chiming across the city...'Tho' no man heed, they shower A subtle beauty on the empty hour'. That is a beautiful line. I do not know when this was written, but it seems that she is writing in dismay at the lack of attention Sunday gets....not much different than now.
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