Providence (Lovecraft)

Where bay and river tranquil blend,And leafy hillsides rise,The spires of Providence ascendAgainst the ancient skies,And in the narrow winding waysThat climb o'er slope and crest,The magic of forgotten daysMay still be found to rest.A fanlight's gleam, a knocker's blow,A glimpse of Georgian brick -The sights and sounds of long agoWhere fancies cluster thick.A flight of steps with iron rail,A belfry looming tall,A slender steeple, carved and pale,A moss-grown garden wall.A hidden churchyard's crumbling proofsOf man's mortality,A rotting wharf where gambrel roofsKeep watch above the sea.Square and parade, whose walls have toweredFull fifteen decades longBy cobbled ways 'mid trees embowered,And slighted by the throng.Stone bridges spanning languid streams,Houses perched on the hill,And courts where mysteries and dreamsThe brooding spirit fill.Steep alley steps by vines concealed,Where small-paned windows glowAt twilight on a bit of fieldThat chance has left below.My Providence! What airy hostsTurn still thy gilded vanes;What winds of elf that with grey ghostsPeople thine ancient lanes!The chimes of evening as of oldAbove thy valleys sound,While thy stern fathers 'neath the mouldMake blest thy sacred ground.