Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE DOG-STAR RAGES, 1850, by GEORGE POPE MORRIS


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE DOG-STAR RAGES, 1850, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Unseal the city fountains
Last Line: Long live the valiant mayor!
Alternate Author Name(s): Morris, George Perkins
Subject(s): Battery Park, New York; New York City - 19th Century


Unseal the city fountains,
And let the waters flow
In coolness from the mountains
Unto the plains below.
My brain is parched and erring,
The pavement hot and dry,
And not a breath is stirring
Beneath the burning sky.

The belles have all departed—
There does not linger one!
Of course the mart's deserted
By every mother's son.
Except the street musician,
And men of lesser note,
Whose only earthly mission
Seems but to toil and vote!

A woman—blessings on her!—
Beneath my window see;
She's singing—what an honour!—
Oh! "Woodman, spare that tree!"
Her "man" the air is killing—
His organ's out of tune—
They're gone with my last shilling,
To Florence's saloon.

New York is most compactly
Of brick and mortar made—
Thermometer exactly
One hundred in the shade!
A furnace would be safer
Than this my letter-room,
Where gleams the sun, a wafer
About to seal my doom.

The town looks like an ogre,
The country like a bride;
Wealth hies to Saratoga
And Worth to Sunny-Side
While fashion seeks the islands
Encircled by the sea,
Taste finds the Hudson Highlands
More beautiful and free.

The omnibuses rumble
Along their cobbled way—
The "twelve inside" more humble
Than he who takes the pay.
From morn to midnight stealing,
His horses come and go—
The only creatures feeling
The "luxury of woe!"

A stillness and a sadness
Pervade the City Hall,
And speculating madness
Has left the street of Wall.
The Union Square looks really
Both desolate and dark,
And that's the case, or nearly,
From Battery to Park.

Had I a yacht like Miller,
That skimmer of the seas—
A wheel rigged like a tiller,
And a fresh gunwale breeze,
A crew of friends well chosen,
And all a-tauto, I
Would sail for regions frozen—
I'd rather freeze than fry.

I'm weeping like the willow
That droops in leaf and bough—
Let Croton's sparkling billow
Flow through the city now;
And, as becomes her station,
The muse will close her prayer;
God save the Corporation!
Long live the valiant Mayor!





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net