04.10.2008, 11:48
The Drawbridge, Bristol
In the laborious heart's exchange there lies
A secret chamber, silet, all apart;
Men's tears at sudden hush will ever start.
Old City, hoarse with manufacture's cries,
Whose noise acclaims the busy enterprise,
Lo! at the clamorous centre of thy heart,
The solemn waters hush the wrangling mart,
And peaceful floods bear up thine argosies.
The prisoned waves, hat quite forget to beat,
Stir to the ocean's pulses twice a day;
Then, like a dream, the silent-footed fleet
Moves to its perfect rest beside the quay;
And Bristol, through thy fevered nerves is sent
A touch of peace, a sense of calm content.
In the laborious heart's exchange there lies
A secret chamber, silet, all apart;
Men's tears at sudden hush will ever start.
Old City, hoarse with manufacture's cries,
Whose noise acclaims the busy enterprise,
Lo! at the clamorous centre of thy heart,
The solemn waters hush the wrangling mart,
And peaceful floods bear up thine argosies.
The prisoned waves, hat quite forget to beat,
Stir to the ocean's pulses twice a day;
Then, like a dream, the silent-footed fleet
Moves to its perfect rest beside the quay;
And Bristol, through thy fevered nerves is sent
A touch of peace, a sense of calm content.