Sara Teasedale: From the North

From the North

The northern woods are delicately sweet,    The lake is folded softly by the shore,    But I am restless for the subway's roar, The thunder and the hurrying of feet. I try to sleep, but still my eyelids beat    Against the image of the tower that bore    Me high aloft, as if thru heaven's door I watched the world from God's unshaken seat. I would go back and breathe with quickened sense    The tunnel's strong hot breath of powdered steel; But at the ferries I should leave the tense       Dark air behind, and I should mount and be    One among many who are thrilled to feel       The first keen sea-breath from the open sea.