Fiddler's Farewell/This City Wind
This City Wind
This city wind with puny strength to crawlThe town's wet streets, and furtively to teaseLoose doors and windows, making sport of these,Comes bruised from battered jetty and sea-wall;Comes as one limping from a sailor's brawl,Seeking the comfort of tall roofs and trees,With tales of dying on disastrous seas—This city wind that is not wind at all.
Because an area-door is left ajar,Clapping its fretful word of autumn storm,I sense these distant tumults, half-asleep,I know ships founder where black waters are.What of home-bodies, lying safe and warm,Drowning in dreams as bitter and as deep?