Page:Knickerbocker 1864-11 64 5.pdf/24
This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
408
Broadway.
[November,
Not good as men reckon the good to-day,
Not good in a queer, rather obsolete way;
Not 'good, you know, for a million or so,'
But good in God's sense, not in that of Broadway.
VI.
'But all this,' you say, though not without reason,
'Like a soda in May, is somewhat out of season.
We have failings enough—if one seeks them none doubt it;
But what is the use of this prating about it?'
I agree; but—'tis fact—I've been troubled from youth
With an obsolete habit of telling the truth;
'Tis a family failing—I'm sorry for it—
For to lie à la mode is far better than wit;
And many a wit, who has failed at his trade,
With well-managed lying a success might have made,
For the fact is, success very large'y depends
On judicious lying, and there the thing ends;
But bear with a couple of similes, pray,
A propos to these people who are walking Broadway.
VII.
Have you sat by the seaside, some beautiful day
When the sun doth set not a mile away,
With a face as mild as an Eastern moon,
But twice as large as it is at noon—
When the sun stoops down till he dips his hair
Of tangled go'd in the waters bare—
Till he dips his hair in the sounding sea
That heaves with a rhythmical monody—
Repeating its restless monody,
Like the soul of a poet so full of rhyme
That it cannot but sing for a whole lifetime?
Then you know how a life should be set to song,
With a rhythmical pulse as it floats along—
Like the pulse of stream as it floats along,
Its melody weaving in tangled braids
As it stealeth away to the woodland shades,
And, winding itself through many a glen,
Sends its music back to the ears of men:
But how many lives in this din of Broadway
Are set to this rhythm? Just tell me, I pray!
VIII.
Have you sat on the hillsides, some beautiful day
When the sun doth set not a mile away,
Not good in a queer, rather obsolete way;
Not 'good, you know, for a million or so,'
But good in God's sense, not in that of Broadway.
VI.
'But all this,' you say, though not without reason,
'Like a soda in May, is somewhat out of season.
We have failings enough—if one seeks them none doubt it;
But what is the use of this prating about it?'
I agree; but—'tis fact—I've been troubled from youth
With an obsolete habit of telling the truth;
'Tis a family failing—I'm sorry for it—
For to lie à la mode is far better than wit;
And many a wit, who has failed at his trade,
With well-managed lying a success might have made,
For the fact is, success very large'y depends
On judicious lying, and there the thing ends;
But bear with a couple of similes, pray,
A propos to these people who are walking Broadway.
VII.
Have you sat by the seaside, some beautiful day
When the sun doth set not a mile away,
With a face as mild as an Eastern moon,
But twice as large as it is at noon—
When the sun stoops down till he dips his hair
Of tangled go'd in the waters bare—
Till he dips his hair in the sounding sea
That heaves with a rhythmical monody—
Repeating its restless monody,
Like the soul of a poet so full of rhyme
That it cannot but sing for a whole lifetime?
Then you know how a life should be set to song,
With a rhythmical pulse as it floats along—
Like the pulse of stream as it floats along,
Its melody weaving in tangled braids
As it stealeth away to the woodland shades,
And, winding itself through many a glen,
Sends its music back to the ears of men:
But how many lives in this din of Broadway
Are set to this rhythm? Just tell me, I pray!
VIII.
Have you sat on the hillsides, some beautiful day
When the sun doth set not a mile away,