  There lies a little city leagues away. Its wharves the green sea washes all day long. Its busy, sun-bright wharves with sailors’ song And clamour of trade ring loud the live-long day. Into the happy harbour hastening, gay With press of snowy canvas, tall ships throng. The peopled streets to blithe-eyed Peace belong, Glad housed beneath these crowding roofs of grey. ’Twas long ago this city prospered so, For yesterday a woman died therein. Since when the wharves are idle fallen, I know, And in the streets is hushed the pleasant din; The thronging ships have been, the songs have been;— Since yesterday it is so long ago. |
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