I <br /> <br />As the blind Milton's memory of light, <br />The deaf Beethoven's phantasy of tone, <br />Wroght joys for them surpassing all things known <br />In our restricted sphere of sound and sight,-- <br />So while the glaring streets of brick and stone <br />Vix with heat, noise, and dust from morn till night, <br />I will give rein to Fancy, taking flight <br />From dismal now and here, and dwell alone <br />With new-enfranchised senses. All day long, <br />Think ye 't is I, who sit 'twixt darkened walls, <br />While ye chase beauty over land and sea? <br />Uplift on wings of some rare poet's song <br />Where the wide billow laughs and leaps and falls, <br />I soar cloud-high, free as the winds are free. <br /> <br /> <br />II <br /> <br />Who grasps the substance? who 'mid shadows strays? <br />He who within some dark-bright wood reclines, <br />'Twixt sleep and waking, where the needled pines <br />Have cushioned al his couch with soft brown sprays? <br />He notes not how the living water shines, <br />Trembling along the cliff, a flickering haze, <br />Brimming a wine-bright pool, nor lifts his gaze <br />To read the ancient wonders and the signs. <br />Does he possess the actual, or do I, <br />Who paint on air more than his sense receives, <br />The glittering pine-tufts with closed eyes behold, <br />Breathe the strong resinous perfume, see the sky <br />Quiver like azure flame between the leaves, <br />And open unseen gates with key of gold?<br /><br />Emma Lazarus<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/city-visions/
