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Show MEMORIES: NEW YORK By Elizabeth M. Walker. The Harbor. Is it a dream, or did I really see A fair city rising from the mist Of early morn? the ferries, and the white ships, all sun-kissed, And the huge buildings stretching to the sky, With pale-smoke wreaths like incense everywhere every-where It seems Aladdin must have been at work For my delight, and traced it in the air! Third Ave. L Sunday. One thing remains, intense, burned in my mind Pale children's faces in the scorching sun, Crowded at windows, penned in squalid rooms, Fighting for breath, themselves, food, bed, debris, all alone. Women and men, like animals, sprawled out Upon the window-sills, all staring, mile on mile, Wearily wistful, hideously sad, Poignantly hopeless God! Not one could smile! Bruno's Weekly. |