No sleep. The sultriness pervades the air <br />And blinds the brain-a dense oppression, such <br />As tawny tigers feel in matted shades, <br />Vexing their blood and making apt for ravage. <br />Beneath the stars the roofy desert spreads <br />Vacant as Libya. All is hushed near by. <br />Yet fitfully from far breaks a mixed surf <br />Of muffled sound, the Atheist roar of riot. <br />Yonder, where parching Sirius set in drought, <br />Balefully glares red Arson-there-and there. <br />The town is taken by its rats-ship-rats <br />And rats of the wharves. All civil charms <br />And priestly spells which late held hearts in awe- <br />Fear-bound, subjected to a better sway <br />Than sway of self; these like a dream dissolve <br />And man rebounds whole aeons back in nature. <br />Hail to the low dull rumble, dull and dead, <br />And ponderous drag that jars the wall. <br />Wise Draco comes, deep in the midnight roll <br />Of black artillery; he comes, though late; <br />In code corroborating Calvin's creed <br />And cynic tyrranies of honest kings; <br />He comes, nor parlies; and the Town, redeeemed, <br />Gives thanks devout; nor, being thankful, heeds <br />The grimy slur on the Republic's faith implied, <br />Which holds that man is naturally good, <br />And-more-is Nature's Roman, never to be scourged.<br /><br />Herman Melville<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-house-top/
