Book 3 — At Night.

The sky is dark, and dark the bay below Save where the midnight city's pallid glow Lies like a lily white On the black pool of night. O rushing steamer, hurry on thy way Across the swirling Kills and gusty bay, To where the eddying tide Strikes hard the city's side! For there, between the river and the sea, Beneath that glow,—the lily's heart to me,— A sleeping mother mild, And by her breast a child.