To live between terms, to live where death <br />has his loud picture in the subway ride, <br />Being amid six million souls, their breath <br />An empty song suppressed on every side, <br />Where the sliding auto's catastrophe <br />Is a gust past the curb, where numb and high <br />The office building rises to its tyranny, <br />Is our anguished diminution until we die. <br /> <br />Whence, if ever, shall come the actuality <br />Of a voice speaking the mind's knowing, <br />The sunlight bright on the green windowshade, <br />And the self articulate, affectionate, and flowing, <br />Ease, warmth, light, the utter showing, <br />When in the white bed all things are made.<br /><br />Delmore Schwartz<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-o-city-city/
