Lower New York-a Storm

Don Marquis

White wing’d below the darkling clouds
  The driven sea-gulls wheel;
The roused sea flings a storm against
  The towers of stone and steel.

The very voice of ocean rings
  Along the shaken street—
Dusk, storm, and beauty whelm the world
  Where sea and city meet—

But what care they for flashing wings,
  Quick beauty, loud refrain,
These huddled thousands, deaf and blind
  To all but greed and gain?

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