Hamilton Fish Armstrong, ed. The Book of New York Verse. 1917.
BroadwayWalt Whitman
W
What passions, winnings, losses, ardours, swim thy waters!
What whirls of evil, bliss and sorrow, stem thee!
What curious questioning glances—glints of love!
Leer, envy, scorn, contempt, hope, aspiration!
Thou portal—thou arena—thou of the myriad long-drawn lines and groups!
(Could but thy flagstones, curbs, façades, tell their inimitable tales;
Thy windows rich, and huge hotels—thy sidewalks wide;)
Thou of the endless sliding, mincing, shuffling feet!
Thou, like the parti-coloured world itself—like infinite, teeming, mocking life!
Thou visor’d, vast, unspeakable show and lesson!