Hamilton Fish Armstrong, ed. The Book of New York Verse. 1917.
YouthSamuel McCoy
Y
Ah, is it still the city that I knew?
Is it still … tell me first, though, did you never
Dine at that restaurant I sent you to?
The one you never find without a guide;
The one where no one ever makes a show of
His worldly wealth, or puts on any “side.”
With those wild Indians there to squelch all sham!
Why, not one of us had a thing resembling
(Even remotely) wealth—nor cared a damn!
I’m sorry! But perhaps you’d not have seen
The glamour that we fellows used to find there;
It might have bored you—though I’m sure ’twas clean!
And breakfast, luncheons, never cost us much;
At night, with a half-dollar, we were wealthy,
And dined there ravenously—always “dutch.”
I’m not quite certain that it’s apropos;
But still those yesterdays were, oh, so happy,
And nights like those are wonderful to know!
This restaurant we called “The Hopeful Heart”—
A silly title; but you mustn’t mind it,
We were all youngsters then, and mad on Art—
Calm finger points up to the summer stars,
And so go down the cross street till your search is
Ended when you hear some lilting bars
That old berceuse from “Jocelyn” … then a laugh!
That’s Alan, bless him! Now his arm he’s flinging
Around your shoulder and life’s gained a half!
Some harebrained scheme, to tell to you alone;
Then down the three stone steps you two will clatter,
And all the worries of your day have flown!
And smiles his “Messieurs” as you troop on through
The kitchen, where the steam of cooking greets you,
And reach the tiny yard, and join the crew!
At what we found to make us like the place:
It wasn’t much to see; sometimes they blundered,
And served us meals that merited no grace;
They charged fantastic sums for their cigars;
But still the waiters always smiled their “Si, si.”
And it was pleasant, underneath the stars.
I only know that something seemed to give
The simplest speech a magic unacquainted,
And all our words (of course) were bound to live!
You missed it? Then you’ve only life’s flat lees!
Perhaps to go back would be to profane it,
But, oh, how gay it was! What prophecies!