Charlotte Mew

Not for That City

Not for that city of the level sun,
    Its golden streets and glittering gates ablaze’€”
    The shadeless, sleepless city of white days,
White nights, or nights and days that are as one’€”
We weary, when all is said, all thought, all done.
    We strain our eyes beyond this dusk to see
    What, from the threshold of eternity
We shall step into. No, I think we shun
The splendour of that everlasting glare,
  The clamour of that never-ending song.
  And if for anything we greatly long,
It is for some remote and quiet stair
    Which winds to silence and a space for sleep
    Too sound for waking and for dreams too deep.
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