The Northern Woods Are Delicately Sweet, The Lake Is Folded Softly By The Shore, But I Am Restless For The Subway'S Roar, The Thunder And The Hurrying Of Feet. I Try To Sleep, But Still My Eyelids Beat Against The Image Of The Tower That Bore Me High Aloft, As If Thru Heaven'S Door I Watched The World From God'S Unshaken Seat. I Would Go Back And Breathe With Quickened Sense The Tunnel'S Strong Hot Breath Of Powdered Steel; But At The Ferries I Should Leave The Tense Dark Air Behind, And I Should Mount And Be One Among Many Who Are Thrilled To Feel The First Keen Sea-Breath From The Open Sea.