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| CITY, I never told you yet— | |
| O little City, let me tell— | |
| A secret woven of your wiles, | |
| Dear City with the angel face, | |
| And you will hear with frowning grace, | 5 |
| Or will you break in summer smiles? | |
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| This is the secret, little town, | |
| Lying so lightly towards the sea; | |
| City, my secret has no art, | |
| Dear City with the golden door; | 10 |
| But oh, the whispers I would pour | |
| Into your ears—into your heart! | |
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| You are my lover, little place, | |
| Lying so sweetly all alone. | |
| And yet I cannot, cannot tell | 15 |
| My secret, for the voice will break | |
| That tries to tell of all the ache | |
| Of this poor heart beneath your spell. | |
| |
| Dreaming, I tell you all my tale; | |
| Tell how the tides that wash your feet | 20 |
| Sink through my heart and cut its cords. | |
| Dreaming, I hold my arms, and drag | |
| All, all into my heart—the flag | |
| On the low hill turned harbourwards, | |
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| And all the curving little bays, | 25 |
| The hot, dust-ridden, narrow streets, | |
| The languid turquoise of the sky, | |
| The gardens flowing to the wave, | |
| I drag them in. O City, save | |
| The grave for me where I must lie. | 30 |
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| Yet humbly I would try to build | |
| Stone upon stone for this town’s sake; | |
| Humbly would try for you to aid | |
| Those whose wise love for you will rear | |
| White monuments far off and near, | 35 |
| White, but unsoiled, undesecrate. | |
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