City of orgies, walks and joys!
City whom that I have lived and sung in your midst will one day make you illustrious,
Not the pageants of you--not your shifting tableaux, your spectacles, repay me;
Not the interminable rows of your houses--nor the ships at the wharves,
Nor the processions in the streets, nor the bright windows, with goods in them;
Nor to converse with learn'd persons, or bear my share in the soiree or feast;
Not those--but, as I pass, O Manhattan! your frequent and swift flash of eyes offering me love,
Offering response to my own--these repay me;
Lovers, continual lovers, only repay me.