James Thomson Poems

Per me si va nella citta dolente.

--Dante
...

He came to the desert of London town
Gray miles long;
He wandered up and he wandered down,
Singing a quiet song.
...

That one long dirge-moan sad and deep,
Low, muffled by the solemn stress
Of such emotion as doth steep
The soul in brooding quietness,
...

The fire that filled my heart of old
Gave luster while it burned;
Now only ashes gray and cold
Are in its silence urned.
...

Once in a saintly passion
I cried with desperate grief,
"O Lord, my heart is black with guile,
Of sinners I am chief."
...

Eastwards through busy streets I lingered on;
Jostled by anxious crowds, who, heart and brain,
Were so absorbed in dreams of Mammon-gain,
That they could spare no time to look upon
...

1

What precious thing are you making fast
In all these silken lines?
...

Give a man a horse he can ride,
Give a man a boat he can sail;
And his rank and wealth, his strength and health,
On sea nor shore shall fail.
...

He cried out through the night:
"Where is the light?
Shall nevermore
Open Heaven's door?
...

I

"Why are your songs all wild and bitter sad
As funeral dirges with the orphans' cries?
...