Pebbles and Shells (Hawkes collection)/The City of the Dead
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS
THE CITY OF THE DEAD
Know you the city of the dead—
A town of much repute?
Where never a word by day is said,
And all the clocks are mute.
A town of much repute?
Where never a word by day is said,
And all the clocks are mute.
Where joy ne'er comes, nor any woes,
And sunlight never streams,
Where from his house no tenant goes
And all the hours are dreams.
And sunlight never streams,
Where from his house no tenant goes
And all the hours are dreams.
The streets are narrow in this town,
The houses.are not tall,
And they are built so far, far down,
The turf grows over all.
The houses.are not tall,
And they are built so far, far down,
The turf grows over all.
Only their domes and turrets show
Above the grasses green,
But all are quite alike below
Where they are never seen.
Above the grasses green,
But all are quite alike below
Where they are never seen.
And every dweller has his name
Engraved upon the spire,
A word of praise unto his fame,
Or charity, that's higher.
Engraved upon the spire,
A word of praise unto his fame,
Or charity, that's higher.
And people come to read the words,
But never stay—alas,
Their only true friends are the birds
The sunlight and the grass,
But never stay—alas,
Their only true friends are the birds
The sunlight and the grass,
With every year a phalanx comes
All without sound of feet,
To swell the countless little homes
Along the darksome street,
All without sound of feet,
To swell the countless little homes
Along the darksome street,
And some are rich and some are poor,
And others great or small,
But the grass will grow o'er every door
And cover them one and all.
And others great or small,
But the grass will grow o'er every door
And cover them one and all.