It is full strange to him who hears and feels, When wandering there in some deserted street, The booming and the jar of ponderous wheels, The trampling clash of heavy ironshod feet:
Who in this Venice of the Black Sea rideth? 5Who in this city of the stars abideth To buy or sell as those in daylight sweet?
The rolling thunder seems to fill the sky As it comes on; the horses snort and strain, The harness jingles, as it passes by; 10The hugeness of an overburthened wain:
A man sits nodding on the shaft or trudges Three parts asleep beside his fellow-drudges:
And so it rolls into the night again.
What merchandise? whence, whither, and for whom? 15Perchance it is a Fate-appointed hearse, Bearing away to some mysterious tomb Or Limbo of the scornful universe The joy, the peace, the life-hope, the abortions Of all things good which should have been our portions, 20But have been strangled by that City's curse.
