Time poems/ page 10 of 792 /
Just where the Treasury's marble front Looks over Wall Street's mingled nations;Where Jews and Gentiles most are wont To throng for trade and last quotations;Where, hour by hour, the rates of gold Outrival, in the ears of people,The quarter-chimes, serenely tolled From Trinity's undaunted steeple,--
Even there I heard a strange, wild strain Sound high above the modern clamor,Above the cries of greed and gain, The curbstone war, the auction's hammer;And swift, on Music's misty ways, It led, from all this strife for millions,To ancient, sweet-do-nothing days Among the kirtle-robed Sicilians
Nigh and day arrive and day after day goes by
And what is old remains old and what is young remains young and grows old.
The lumber pile does not grow younger nor the two-by-fours lose their darkness
but the old tree goes on the barn stands without help so many years;
the advocate of darkness and night is not lost.