Classic Poem

Last night I could not sleep for longing —
'Spite the soft wind-rush of the rain, —
The breathless engine-bell's ding-donging,
And the smooth rearing of the train...

A flash of lamps, — an echoing thunder, —
The little towns sprang up, — were gone —
Then leaped my soul and I asunder
And the impetuous soul rushed on

To greet these towers where the morning
First kindless from the rim of sea, —
Last pinnacles of Sun's adorning, —
Manhattan: Breath and blood of me!

Manhattan, zoned with ships, — the cruel
Youngest of all the world's great towns, —
Her bodice quick with many a jewel, —
Imperially crowned with crowns, —

Manhattan, threatening above her
The dull gods gaping in the sky —
A Titaness without a lover,
Ringed with a million such as I

Burning to take her passionately —
Burning to buy what is not priced —
Burning to love her hotly, greatly, —
Burning to fill her with a Christ!

The Word! The Word that has no naming, —
Tuned to her mighty pulses' beat, —
That shall awake her senses flaming,
Reckless, and terrible, and sweet

Then shall burst from her lips such singing
As the gods heard at Baldur's birth, —
And all her garments from her flinging,
White, naked, she shall stun the earth!