Explore "The Lights of New York" by Sara Teasdale on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
THE lightning spun your garment for the night / Of silver filaments with fire shot thru, / A broidery of lamps that lit for you / The steadfast splendor of enduring light.
The moon drifts dimly in the heaven's height, / Watching with wonder how the earth she knew / That lay so long wrapped deep in dark and dew, / Should wear upon her breast a star so white.
The festivals of Babylon were dark / With flaring flambeaux that the wind blew down; / The Saturnalia were a wild boy's lark / With rain-quenched torches dripping thru the town -- / But you have found a god and filched from him / A fire that neither wind nor rain can dim.