Hamilton Fish Armstrong, ed. The Book of New York Verse. 1917.
City LyricsNathaniel P. Willis
C
The moon hangs just over Broadway,
The stars are all lighted and panting—
(Hot weather up there, I dare say!)
’Tis seldom that “coolness” entices,
And love is no better for chilling—
But come up to Thompson’s for ices,
And cool your warm heart for a shilling!
Mint juleps from City Hotel!
A loafer is smoking before us—
(A nasty cigar, by the smell!)
Oh Woman! thou secret past knowing!
Like lilachs that grow by the wall,
You breathe every air that is going,
Yet gather but sweetness from all!
Religion seems very ill-plann’d,
For one day we list to the pastor,
For six days we list to the band!
The sermon may dwell on the future,
The organ your pulses may calm—
When—pest!—that remembered cachucha
Upsets both the sermon and psalm!
While goes a swift omnibus by!
(Though sweet is ice-cream when the flutter
Of fans shows thermometers high)—
But if what I bawl, or I mutter,
Falls into your ear but to die,
Oh, the dew that falls into the gutter
Is not more unhappy than I!