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Broadway.

[WRITTEN FOR THE HERALD.]

What hurrying human tides, or day or night!
What passions, winnings, losses, ardors, swim
      thy waters!
What whirls of evil, bliss and sorrow stem, thee!
What curious questioning glances—glints of
      love!
Leer, envy, scorn, contempt, hope, aspiration!
Thou portal—thou arena—thou of the myriad
      long-drawn lines and groups!
(Could but thy flagstones, curbs, facades tell
      their inimitable tales);
Thy windows, rich and huge hotels—thy side-
      walks wide;
Thou of the endless sliding, mincing, shuffling
      feet!
Thou, like the parti-colored world itself—like
      infinite, teeming, mocking life!
Thou visor'd, vast, unspeakable show and
      lesson!

WALT WHITMAN.


Publication Information
"Broadway."  New York Herald  10 April 1888:  6.  Reprinted in the "Sands at Seventy" annex to Leaves of Grass (1888).

Whitman Archive ID
per.00082


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