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NEW YORK
She is hot to the sea that crouches beside,
Human and hot to the cool stars peering down,
My passionate city, my quivering town,
And her dark blood, tide upon purple tide,
With throbs as of thunder beats,
With leaping rhythms and vast, is swirled
Through the shaken lengths of her veined streets...
She pulses, the heart of a world!
I have thrilled with her ecstasy, agony, woe—
Hath she a mood that I do not know?
The winds of her music tumultuous have seized me and swayed me,
Have lifted, have swung me around
In their whorls as of cyclonic sound;
Her passions have torn me and tossed me and brayed me;
Drunken and trancèd and dazzled with visions and gleams,
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