City Lyrics

Argument. - The poet starts from the Bowling Green to take his sweetheart up to Thompsons for an ice, or (if she is inclined for more) ices. He confines his muse to matters which any every-day man and young woman may see in taking the same promenade for the same innocent refreshment.



Come out, love, the night is enchanting!
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 Thompsons for ices,
And cool your warm heart for a shilling!

What perfume comes balmily oer us?
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!

On, on! by St. Pauls, and the Astor!
Religion seems very ill-plannd!
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 rememberd cachucha
Upsets both the sermon and psalm!

Oh, pity the love that must utter
While goes a swift omnibus by!
(Though sweet is I scream* 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

Nathaniel Parker Willis

Nathaniel Parker Willis was an American author, poet, and editor who was among the most popular literary figures of his time. He founded and edited several periodicals and wrote many poems, essays, and travelogues. Willis was known for his urbane style, which influenced the development of 19th-century American literature. Despite his widespread popularity during his lifetime, his work fell out of favor in the years following his death.

Nathaniel Parker Willis

Parrhasius

Nathaniel Parker Willis, Simple Poetry

Isabel.

Nathaniel Parker Willis, Simple Poetry

A Portrait.

Nathaniel Parker Willis, Simple Poetry

The Belfry Pigeon

Nathaniel Parker Willis, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

In The City

Away from the silent hills and the talking of upland waters,
The high still stars and the lonely moon in her quarters,
I fly to the city, the streets, the faces, the towers;
And I leave behind me the hush and the dews and the flowers,
The mink that steals by the stream a-shimmer among the rocks,
The hawk o'er the barn-yard sailing, the little cub-bear and the fox,
The woodchuck and his burrow, and the little snake at noon,
And the house of the yellow-jacket, and the cricket's endless tune.

And what shall I find in the city that shall take the place of these?
O I shall find my love there, and fall at her silken knees,
And for the moon her breast, and for the stars her eyes,
And under her shadowed hair the gardens of Paradise.

Richard Le Gallienne

To A Friend In The City, From Her Friend In The Country.

By especial request I take up my pen,
To write a few lines to my dear Mrs. N.;
And though nothing of depth she has right to expect;
Yet the will for the deed she will not reject
The task, on reflection, is a heavy one quite,
As here in the country we've no news to write;
For what is to us very new, rich, and rare,
To you in the city is stale and thread bare.
Should I write of Hungary, Kossuth, or the Swede,
They are all out of date, antiquated indeed.
I might ask you with me the New Forest to roam,
But it's stript of its foliage, quite leafless become;
N.P. Willis and rival have each had their day,
And of rappings and knockings there's nought new to say.
Yet do not mistake me, or think I would choose,
A home in the city, the country to l...

Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow

The City

Canst thou not rest, O city,
That liest so wide and fair;
Shall never an hour bring pity,
Nor end be found for care?

Thy walls are high in heaven,
Thy streets are gay and wide,
Beneath thy towers at even
The dreamy waters glide.

Thou art fair as the hills at morning,
And the sunshine loveth thee,
But its light is a gloom of warning
On a soul no longer free.

The curses of gold are about thee,
And thy sorrow deepeneth still;
One madness within and without thee,
One battle blind and shrill.

I see the crowds for ever
Go by with hurrying feet;
Through doors that darken never
I hear the engines beat.

Through days and nights that follow
The hidden mill-wheel strains;
In the midnight's windy hollow
I hea...

Archibald Lampman

The Call Of The City

There is a saying of renown,
"God made the country, man the town."
Well, everybody to his trade!
But man likes best the thing he made.
The town has little space to spare;
The country has both space and air;
The town's confined, the country free,
Yet, spite of all, the town for me.

For when the hills are grey and night is falling,
And the winds sigh drearily,
I hear the city calling, calling, calling,
With a voice like the great sea.

I used to think I'd like to be
A hermit living lonesomely,
Apart from human care or ken,
Afar from. all the haunts of men:
Then I would read in Nature's book,
And drink clear water from the brook,
And live a life of sweet content,
In hollow tree, or cave, or tent.

This was a dream of callow You...

Victor James Daley

Paris

    I

First, London, for its myriads; for its height,
Manhattan heaped in towering stalagmite;
But Paris for the smoothness of the paths
That lead the heart unto the heart's delight. . . .

Fair loiterer on the threshold of those days
When there's no lovelier prize the world displays
Than, having beauty and your twenty years,
You have the means to conquer and the ways,

And coming where the crossroads separate
And down each vista glories and wonders wait,
Crowning each path with pinnacles so fair
You know not which to choose, and hesitate -

Oh, go to Paris. . . . In the midday gloom
Of some old quarter take a little room
That looks off over Paris and its towers
From Saint Gervais round to the Emperor's Tomb, -

So high that you ...

Alan Seeger

The Dog-Star Rages.

Unseal the city fountains,
    And let the waters flow
In coolness from the mountains
    Unto the plains below.
My brain is parched and erring,
    The pavement hot and dry,
And not a breath is stirring
    Beneath the burning sky.

The belles have all departed--
    There does not linger one!
Of course the mart's deserted
    By every mother's son,
Except the street musician
    And men of lesser note,
Whose only earthly mission
    Seems but to toil and vote!

A woman--blessings on her!--
    Beneath my window see;
She's singing--what an honor!--
    Oh! "Woodman, spare that tree!"
Her "man" the air is killing--
    His organ's out of tune--
They're gone, with my last shilling, [See Notes (1)]
    To Florence's s...

George Pope Morris