Читать книгу The Witch Maid, and Other Verses - Dorothea Mackellar - Страница 5

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FROM A TOWN WINDOW

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From my high-jutting window in town

Looking down,

The lights constellated burn steady and far;

The purple skies meet with the dark at my feet,

I hardly can tell which is lamp and which star.

And the tall sombre buildings that rise

Near my eyes

Where one lighted window shines gold in the dark,

Unsubstantial show, that I see them as though

I could walk through the walls without leaving a mark.

And the purring and murmurous choir

Of the wire

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That leads the chained lightning a slave through the street,

In the night-stillness comes like the throbbing of drums,

Like the distant, dread sound of innumerable feet.

Sydney, Australia.