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?