Chapter 8
Poem Number Eight of Thirty American Poems by Various A Fawn in Wall Street by John Myers O'Hara This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Rating by Matt Perard. A Fawn in Wall Street.
What shape so furtive steals along the dim, bleak street, Baron of throngs, this day of June, this day of rest, When all the roses swoon, in attic vales, Where dryads wait for him? What silven this, and what the stranger whim, That lured him here, this golden afternoon, Ways where the dusk has fallen over soon, In the deep canyon, torrentless and grim?
Great pan is far, oh mad astray, and these bare walls, That leap to heaven and hide the skies, Are fain's men rear to other deities. Far to the east the haunted woodland lies, And cloudless still from cyclet dotted seas, By Mattis and the hills of Hellas rise.
