NORTH I AM

 FROM THE NORTH (1915)  by Sara Teasdale (1833-1944)

 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 feet

 I try to sleep, but still by 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 be

 One among many who are thrilled to feel

 The first keen breath from the open sea.

 Photographs 2019