 | The Baroness of New York |  |
III.
I like the tortuous paths of Central Park,
Like great, big autographs writ in grass.
Here Pat, indeed, has set his honest mark—
Whate'er his boss, the great, big William has.
I like that spacious Park, so dark at night,
The lover's pride, the tranquil tramp's delight.
Like great, big autographs writ in grass.
Here Pat, indeed, has set his honest mark—
Whate'er his boss, the great, big William has.
I like that spacious Park, so dark at night,
The lover's pride, the tranquil tramp's delight.
Unwatched it lies, and open as the sun
When God swings wide the dark doors of the East.
O, keep one spot of your pent isle, still one,
Where tramp or banker, layman or high priest,
Meet equals, all before the face of God.
Yea, equals stand upon that common sod
One day, where they shall equals be
Beneath, for aye, and all eternity.
When God swings wide the dark doors of the East.
O, keep one spot of your pent isle, still one,
Where tramp or banker, layman or high priest,
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Yea, equals stand upon that common sod
One day, where they shall equals be
Beneath, for aye, and all eternity.
It lies a little island quite above the tide
Of commerce, high above high-water mark;
Go ye, my tramps and shoddies, and abide
Your little hour, equals in the park.
Of commerce, high above high-water mark;
Go ye, my tramps and shoddies, and abide
Your little hour, equals in the park.
O banker, count some coins for charity!
Put down, O tramp, that bit of conscious pride,
That you have more of out-door air than he!
You both are good to fertilize the ground;
You count about the same when the cholera comes around.
Put down, O tramp, that bit of conscious pride,
That you have more of out-door air than he!
You both are good to fertilize the ground;
You count about the same when the cholera comes around.
O, crooked, crooked paths where cautious lovers meet
With eyes held down. O, whither tend
Ye paths that neither do begin or end?
Forbidden paths that seem so doubly sweet,
Say, who would seek at all, to make ye straight?
Say, who would seek to find the narrow gate
To enter in, when all the park lies wide
And open as the moon-believing tide?
Yea, let us linger in this park. To me
It hath a light and roominess. The air
Stirs woman-like and roving as the sea.
A sense of freedom thrills my soul, made free
And full of shoutings, to escape the glare
Of gas, and all the sound of brass
And many tongues the gasping city has—
The hollow, shoddy, sickly shows, and all
The lies that hide behind a brown-stone wall.
With eyes held down. O, whither tend
Ye paths that neither do begin or end?
Forbidden paths that seem so doubly sweet,
Say, who would seek at all, to make ye straight?
Say, who would seek to find the narrow gate
To enter in, when all the park lies wide
And open as the moon-believing tide?
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It hath a light and roominess. The air
Stirs woman-like and roving as the sea.
A sense of freedom thrills my soul, made free
And full of shoutings, to escape the glare
Of gas, and all the sound of brass
And many tongues the gasping city has—
The hollow, shoddy, sickly shows, and all
The lies that hide behind a brown-stone wall.
'Tis said this park is proud Manhattan's pride;
It is, indeed, a most capacious park.
It looks as long as all the plains, as wide;
That is, if you behold it in the dark.
It is, indeed, a most capacious park.
It looks as long as all the plains, as wide;
That is, if you behold it in the dark.
But there are things that somehow seem to me
Almost as big as this, as worthy boast,
Along that far and unpretending coast;
Things in that far West quite as well to see.
And, come to think of it, perhaps 'twere best,
My proud Manhattan, that you do now go West.
Almost as big as this, as worthy boast,
Along that far and unpretending coast;
Things in that far West quite as well to see.
And, come to think of it, perhaps 'twere best,
My proud Manhattan, that you do now go West.
Go West, and see the world you levied on
Through all your pompous years and mocked, meanwhile.
Go West! aye, go for many a thousand mile.
Yea, you have time to go. Your ships are gone.
Your great sea merchants come from sea no more,
Broad-souled and brave of heart. The little store
Of gold and goods your daring fathers brought
To deck and crown their new Venetian shore,
You fell to gambling for like knaves. You fought
Among yourselves and let your proud ships rot.
Through all your pompous years and mocked, meanwhile.
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Yea, you have time to go. Your ships are gone.
Your great sea merchants come from sea no more,
Broad-souled and brave of heart. The little store
Of gold and goods your daring fathers brought
To deck and crown their new Venetian shore,
You fell to gambling for like knaves. You fought
Among yourselves and let your proud ships rot.
Go West. Here once, with high, exalted head
You sat in state beside your white sea door.
You tenfold tribute laid on every shred
That passed you, to or from the new-born, poor,
Dependent West. She comes to you no more
In suppliance now. Behold how we have reared
An hundred high-built capitols. Endeared
Are they by agonies of birth. Aye, true,
Are they, with that vehement truth that you
In cold and cautious commerce never knew.
You sat in state beside your white sea door.
You tenfold tribute laid on every shred
That passed you, to or from the new-born, poor,
Dependent West. She comes to you no more
In suppliance now. Behold how we have reared
An hundred high-built capitols. Endeared
Are they by agonies of birth. Aye, true,
Are they, with that vehement truth that you
In cold and cautious commerce never knew.
Go West! Forget thyself and look upon
The middle world a day. This far sea rim,
Half-wrought, at best, lies broken, cold and dim,
As ruins with the fading light withdrawn.
Go West for aye. For there, the favored few
Of you, who hope to win the world of bliss—
Who will admit there is a better world than this,
Your brown stone town and teeming Avenue—
Will be that much the nearer it, than you
Are now. Therefore, indeed, I think it best
That you go West, or learn to know the West.
The middle world a day. This far sea rim,
Half-wrought, at best, lies broken, cold and dim,
As ruins with the fading light withdrawn.
Go West for aye. For there, the favored few
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Who will admit there is a better world than this,
Your brown stone town and teeming Avenue—
Will be that much the nearer it, than you
Are now. Therefore, indeed, I think it best
That you go West, or learn to know the West.
| The Baroness of New York | |