Verse > Anthologies > Hamilton Fish Armstrong, ed. > The Book of New York Verse
Hamilton Fish Armstrong, ed.  The Book of New York Verse.  1917.
Central Park
By John Myers O’Hara
THE LITTLE lake, sequestered from the wind,
  Is white with swans that on its bosom sleep;
  A sunken mirror where the skies may keep
The azure of their summer dream enshrined;
Unsullied by the rim of roofs behind        5
  Secluding oaks that cluster on the steep,
  Or ripple from the shore whose frondage deep
Is cool with shadow and with fragrance kind.
The tyrant city towers above the trees,
  Nor heeds the Attic idyl in its heart;        10
  The grind of wheels and noise of feet depart,
The woods are filled with fabled deities;
  A dream recalls them to their sylvan sway,
  And Mammon yields Arcadia a day.

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