Evening: New York
Blue dust of evening over my city, Over the ocean of roofs and the tall towers Where the window-lights, myriads and myriads, Bloom from the walls like climbing flowers.
Sara Teasdale
Blue dust of evening over my city, Over the ocean of roofs and the tall towers Where the window-lights, myriads and myriads, Bloom from the walls like climbing flowers.
Sara Teasdale’s speaker looks out over New York as evening comes on, and she sees the city not as noise or concrete but as something almost natural and tender. The “blue dust of evening” softens the rooftops, and the expanse of buildings becomes an “ocean of roofs.” The tall towers rise above it.
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