Hamilton Fish Armstrong, ed. The Book of New York Verse. 1917.
Whistles at NightJohn Hall Wheelock
A
I think of you, far-off in the dark and the night,
And the old days come back of your young delight
So long ago.
The long, dim aisles of trees in the lamp-lit Park,
The windy houses that huddled, chilly and dark,
On the twilit Vast.
And a rattling car, in that moment of exquisite pain,
Burned themselves like odors into my brain,
Sharp and yet sweet.
We would laugh, we said, to make it a little thing;
I remember your voice, how your laugh had a curious ring
Not wholly gay.
And when you had turned away for a little while,
How you turned back with a last, brave ghost of a smile,—
But not glad, not glad!
I think of you, far-off in the dark and the night;
The arc-lamp out in the street flares dizzy and white,
And the dawn comes slow.