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Updated: May 18, 2025
As they turned into one of the numerical streets to cross to Broadway, and found themselves in a yet deeper seclusion, Basil-began to utter in a musing tone: "A city against the world's gray Prime, Lost in some desert, far from Time, Where noiseless Ages gliding through, Have only sifted sands and dew, Yet still a marble head of man Lying on all the haunted plan; The passions of the human heart Beating the marble breast of Art, Were not more lone to one who first Upon its giant silence burst, Than this strange quiet, where the tide Of life, upheaved on either aide, Hangs trembling, ready soon to beat With human waves the Morning Street."
As they turned into one of the numerical streets to cross to Broadway, and found themselves in a yet deeper seclusion, Basil-began to utter in a musing tone: "A city against the world's gray Prime, Lost in some desert, far from Time, Where noiseless Ages gliding through, Have only sifted sands and dew, Yet still a marble head of man Lying on all the haunted plan; The passions of the human heart Beating the marble breast of Art, Were not more lone to one who first Upon its giant silence burst, Than this strange quiet, where the tide Of life, upheaved on either aide, Hangs trembling, ready soon to beat With human waves the Morning Street."
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