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?