Hamilton Fish Armstrong, ed. The Book of New York Verse. 1917.
Maiden LaneLouise Morgan Sill
D
Sweet-scented in the early air,
Where sparkling rills went shining through
Their grassy banks, so green, so fair,
Blithe little maids from Holland land
Went tripping, laughing each to each,
To bathe the flax, or spread a band
Of linen in the sun to bleach.
They wore this path—a maiden’s lane—
Where now such waves of commerce flow
As never dazed a burgher’s brain.
Two hundred years ago and more
Those thrifty damsels, one by one,
With plump, round arms their linen bore
To dry in Mana-ha-ta’s sun.
No tender sward, no bubbling stream,
No laughter,—was it really true,
Or but the fancy of a dream?
Were these harsh walls a byway sweet,
This floor of stone a grassy plain?
Pray vanish, modern city street,
And let us stroll down Maiden Lane.