  From my high-jutting window in town Looking down, The lights constellated burn steady and far; The purple skies meet with the dark at my feet, I hardly can tell which is lamp and which star. And the tall sombre buildings that rise Near my eyes Where one lighted window shines gold in the dark, Unsubstantial show, that I see them as though I could walk through the walls without leaving a mark. And the purring and murmurous choir Of the wire In the night-stillness comes like the throbbing of drums, Like the distant, dread sound of innumerable feet. Sydney, Australia. |
|
