From A Shop Window

I look out from the dusty window,

     O’er each house-top and each spire;

And within my restless bosom

     Leaps a slowly burning fire.

And I long to have my freedom,

     And to mingle with such men,

As they who keep this world in motion,

     By weighty speech and mighty pen.

And I tread the oil-soaked timbers,

     And I fancy brighter scenes;

While I hear the sounds I cherish

     O’er the hum-drum of machines.

And I know that o’er the river,

     In that crowded city there,

With its gilded dome far shining,

     Waits the life I fain would share.

But I turn me from the window,

     While I try to patient be;

And the work of poet, teacher,

     Once again assureth me.

Like a sweet, allaying potion

     Do they calm my restless state:

“Still achieving, still pursuing,

     Learn to labor and to wait.”

July 28, ‘91

Pub. in

  Camb. Chron-

icle