From Wellington Terrace.

by Arthur Henry Adams

Arthur Henry Adams

WHITE stars above, red stars beneath,
And o'er the bay the brooding hills:
No murmur, save a quiet breath
That faintly through the darkness thrills,
The bay with shadowed lights a-blur;
On high a glow that waves and wanes;
And through the city here and there
The red-lit streets - like living veins!

Last updated July 21, 2017