Hamilton Fish Armstrong, ed. The Book of New York Verse. 1917.
Fitz-Greene Halleck (abridged)John Greenleaf Whittier
A
Thy civic wreaths belong,
O city of his love, make room
For one whose gift was song.
He served his race and time
As well as if his clerkly pen
Had never danced to rhyme.
Men found their homes more sweet,
And through a tenderer atmosphere
Looked down the brick-walled street.
The Red King walked Broadway;
And Alnwick Castle’s roses blew
From Palisades to Bay.
His veil with reverent hands;
And mingle with thy own the praise
And pride of other lands.
Thy tall ships ride the seas;
To-day thy poet’s name recalls
A prouder thought than these.
Not less thy tall fleets swim,
That shaded square and dusty street
Are classic ground through him.
New voices challenge fame;
But let no moss of years o’ercreep
The lines of Halleck’s name.