The city had withdrawn into itself
And left at last the country to the country;
When between whirls of snow not come to lie
And whirls of foliage not yet laid, there drove
A stranger to our yard, who looked the city,
Yet did in country fashion in that there
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Fly me to the moon
Let me play among the stars
Let me see what spring is like
On Jupiter and Mars…
Strike the gay harp! see the moon is on high,
And, as true to her beam as the tides of the ocean,
Young hearts, when they feel the soft light of her eye,
Obey the mute call, and heave into motion.
Then, sound notes -- the gayest, the lightest,
Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!
Bird thou never wert,
That from Heaven, or near it,
Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.
Higher still and higher
From the earth thou springest
Like a cloud of fire;
We gather together to ask the Lord’s blessing;
He chastens and hastens His will to make known;
The wicked oppressing now cease from distressing;
Sing praises to His Name; He forgets not His own.
Beside us to guide us, our God with us joining,
I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.
I was asking for something specific and perfect for my city,
Whereupon lo! upsprang the aboriginal name.
My shoulders broad, I can carry much.
Sticks and stones and dirt and such
Ideas that cross my mind.
Still I can carry more,
Your secrets, burdens, wishes for
The future, though the now unkind.
Sometimes the world weighs me down-
In the morning the city
Spreads its wings
Making a song
In stone that sings.
In the evening the city
Goes to bed
Above its head.
"Autumn is a second spring where every leaf is a flower."