Dawn on Grey Street Bridge

I stood like Wordsworth at Westminster. Fair
The city lay, and wore the river mist
As does a bridge her veil, while softly kissed
By fading stars, the city tower stood there,
Piercing toward heaven the gentle morning air.
And in the west, the gloom of night, dismissed,
Clung close to river reaches to resist
The coming day, or lurk in shadows where
High noon may no impenetrate, and still
The gentle peace of night may lie so deep
That even the tree-tops and the distant hill
May yet recall the City’s silent sleep.

And while the City slept, I thought of them
Who heard Him weep for His Jerusalem.