Lower New York'a Storm

White wing'd below the darkling clouds
The driven sea-gulls wheel;
The roused sea flings a storm against
The towers of stone and steel.

The very voice of ocean rings
Along the shaken street-
Dusk, storm, and beauty whelm the world
Where sea and city meet-

But what care they for flashing wings,
Quick beauty, loud refrain,
These huddled thousands, deaf and blind
To all but greed and gain?