Lower New York—A Storm
Don Marquis
White wing’d below the darkling clouds The driven sea-gulls wheel; The roused sea flings a storm against The towers of stone and steel. The very voice of ocean rings Along the shaken street— Dusk, storm, and beauty whelm the world Where sea and city meet— But what care they for flashing wings, Quick beauty, loud refrain, These huddled thousands, deaf and blind To all but greed and gain?
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