Explore "From the North" by Sara Teasdale on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
THE northern woods are delicately sweet, / The lake is folded softly by the shore, / But I am restless for the subway's roar, / The thunder and the hurrying of feet.
I try to sleep, but still my eyelids beat / Against the image of the tower that bore / Me high aloft, as if thru heaven's door / I watched the world from God's unshaken seat.
I would go back and breathe with quickened sense / The tunnel's strong hot breath of powdered steel; / But at the ferries I should leave the tense / Dark air behind, and I should mount and be / One among many who are thrilled to feel / The first keen sea-breath from the open sea.