I’m weary of myself. I’m dejected.
I stand and gaze and feel — and marvel! Is
This then the great city that has planted
Despair in me? What contrasts jolt in this
Strange Hive: souls kind and hard; pure Good; great Sins!
This Hope or Mockery, Lord? Or Joy or Pain?
For here beneath my eyes lie wonder scenes
That should ring Joy, but only fling me Pain!
All forces good or evil bring them Light
Who worship at Art’s shrine or read her Book.
My soul doth live! A flash out of the night!
I’ve been with God! I’m back content! I look
Where Nature’s work and Man’s mingle or fight —
Up sprout man’s flowers! Electric lights! ‘Tis night!