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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.
Content of PART II: FROM THE NORTH [Sara Teasdale's poem collection: Rivers to the Sea]
Read next: PART II#THE LIGHTS OF NEW YORK
Read previous: PART II#DEBT
Table of content of Rivers to the Sea
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