Hamilton Fish Armstrong, ed. The Book of New York Verse. 1917.
The India Wharf (abridged)Sara Teasdale
H
The wide sown fields fall to the faint horizon,
Sleeping in starlight …
Together … forgetful.
One by one we crossed the avenues,
Rivers of light, roaring in tumult,
And came to the narrow, knotted streets.
Through the tense crowd
We went aloof, ecstatic, walking in wonder,
Unconscious of our motion.
Forever the foreign people with dark, deep-seeing eyes
Passed us and passed.
Lights and foreign words and foreign faces,
I forgot them all;
I only felt alive, defiant of all death and sorrow,
Sure and elated.
And led us at last to water black and glossy,
Flecked here and there with lights, faint and far off.
There on a shabby building was a sign
“The India Wharf” … and we turned back.
And crossed the bright green seas
To dreaming cities set on sacred streams
And palaces
Of ivory and scarlet.