I stood upon a heaven-cleaving turret
G. Antheil
I stood upon a heaven-cleaving turret
Which overlooked a wide Metropolis --
And in the temple of my heart my Spirit
Lay prostrate, and with parted lips did kiss
The dust of Desolations altar hearth --
And with a voice too faint to falter
It shook that trembling fane with its weak prayer
'Twas noon,--the sleeping skies were blue
The city