New York! oh, what magic encircles that spot In the feminine mind of the West! There, it seems, Waits the realization of beautiful dreams. There the waters of Lethe unceasingly roll, With blessed forgetfulness free to each soul, While the doorways that lead to success open wide, With Fame in the distance to beckon and guide. Mirth lurks in each byway, and Folly herself Wears the look of a semi-respectable elf, And is to be courted and trusted when met, For she teaches one how to be gay and forget, And to start new account books with life. 

 It was so, Since she first heard the name of the city, that Zoe Dreamed of life in New York. It was thither she turned To smother the heart that with restlessness burned, And to quiet and calm an unsatisfied mind. Her plans were but outlines, crude, vague, undefined, Of distraction and pleasure. A snug little home, With seclusion and comfort; full freedom to roam Where her fancy and income permitted; new faces, New scenes, new environments, far from the places Where brief joy and long sorrow had dwelt with her; free From the curious eyes that seemed ever to be Bent upon her. She passed like a ship from the port, Without chart or compass; the plaything and sport Of the billows of Fate. 

It was so,

 The parks were all gay And busy with costuming duties of May When Zoe reached New York. The rain and the breeze Had freshened the gowns of the Northern pine trees Till they looked bright as new; all the willows were seen In soft dainty garments of exquisite green. Young buds swelled with life, and reached out to invite And to hold the warm gaze of the wandering light. The turf exhaled fragrance; among the green boughs The unabashed city birds plighted their vows, Or happy young house hunters chirped of the best And most suitable nook to establish a nest. 

The parks were all gay

 There was love in the sunshine, and love in the air; Youth, hope, home, companionship, spring, everywhere. There was youth, there was spring in her blood; yet she only, In all the great city, seemed loveless and lonely. 

 The trim little flat, facing north on the park, Was not homelike; the rooms seemed too sombre and dark To her eyes, sun-accustomed; the neighbors too near And too noisy. The medley of sounds hurt her ear. Sudden laughter; the cry of an infant; the splash Of a tenant below in his bath-tub; the crash Of strong hands on a keyboard above, and the light, Merry voice of the lady who lived opposite, The air intertwined in a tangled sound ball, And 

 Prev. P 30/69 next