Winter of 1873, Congress in Session
Nay, tell me not to-day the publish’d shame, Read not to-day the journal’s crowded page, The merciless reports still branding forehead after forehead, The guilty column following guilty column.
To-day to me the tale refusing, Turning from it—from the white capitol turning, Far from these swelling domes, topt with statues, More endless, jubilant, vital visions rise Unpublish’d, unreported.