| Louis Untermeyer, ed. (1885–1977). Modern American Poetry. 1919. |
| |
| John Hall Wheelock. 1886– |
| |
| 116. Sunday Evening in the Common |
| |
| LOOK—on the topmost branches of the world | |
| The blossoms of the myriad stars are thick; | |
| Over the huddled rows of stone and brick, | |
| A few, sad wisps of empty smoke are curled | |
| Like ghosts, languid and sick. | 5 |
| |
| One breathless moment now the city's moaning | |
| Fades, and the endless streets seem vague and dim; | |
| There is no sound around the whole world's rim, | |
| Save in the distance a small band is droning | |
| Some desolate old hymn. | 10 |
| |
| Van Wyck, how often have we been together | |
| When this same moment made all mysteries clear; | |
| —The infinite stars that brood above us here, | |
| And the gray city in the soft June weather, | |
| So tawdry and so dear! | 15 |
|
|
