IN THE CITY.
THE autumn morning sweetly calls to me,
And autumn days and nights in patience wait;
I answer not, because I am not free,
Although I chose my fate.
And autumn days and nights in patience wait;
I answer not, because I am not free,
Although I chose my fate.
The cold, gray mist that stains the city walls
Stands silver-columned where the river glides,
Or, slow dividing, on the valley falls,
Where one I love abides.
Stands silver-columned where the river glides,
Or, slow dividing, on the valley falls,
Where one I love abides.
The wind that trifles round my city door,
Or whirls before me all the city's dust,
By the sea borrows its triumphant roar,
And lends its savage gust;
Or whirls before me all the city's dust,
By the sea borrows its triumphant roar,
And lends its savage gust;
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