I gaze upon a city,—
A city new and strange,—
Down many a watery vista
Good morrow to the golden morning,
Good morrow to the world's delight—
I've come to bless thy life's beginning,
Giver of glowing light!
Though but a god of other days,
The kings and sages
Of wiser ages
I love thee—I love thee!
'Tis all that I can say;—
It is my vision in the night,
My dreaming in the day;
'Twas in the prime of summer-time
An evening calm and cool,
And four-and-twenty happy boys
Came bounding out of school:
A spade! a rake! a hoe!
A pickaxe, or a bill!
A hook to reap, or a scythe to mow,
A flail, or what ye will—
BIANCA!—fair Bianca!—who could dwell
With safety on her dark and hazel gaze,
Nor find there lurk'd in it a witching spell,
Look how the lark soars upward and is gone,
Turning a spirit as he nears the sky!
His voice is heard, but body there is none
Oh, when I was a tiny boy,
My days and nights were full of joy,
Farewell, Life! My senses swim,
And the world is growing dim;
Thronging shadows cloud the light,
Like the advent of the night,—