Poems (Van Rensselaer)/In Lower New York
IN LOWER NEW YORK
Stand here with me. The throngs dissolve away. The sunset fades. A single star grows bright. The moon as purely sheds her balm of lightThrough these cliff-corridors as on the bayPure-spread beyond them. Sea-breeze murmurs say, Not all of time is pledged for gain, the night Means sleeping even here, and in despiteOf gold and greed will dawn a Sabbath-day.
There is no peace like this, the deep repose Of citadels of haggard restlessness.Prairie and mountain-top and twilit snows Breathe of the benison of silence lessThan these tired streets, dazed with the noise of men,When the calm darkness bids them rest again.