Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman

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CITY of my walks and joys!

City whom that I have lived and sung there will one
day make you illustrious,

Not the pageants of you—not your shifting tab-
leaux, your spectacles, repay me,

Not the interminable rows of your houses—nor the
ships at the wharves,

Nor the processions in the streets, nor the bright win-
dows, with goods in them,

Nor to converse with learned persons, or bear my
share in the soiree or feast;

Not those—but, as I pass, O Manhattan! your fre-
quent and swift flash of eyes offering me love,

Offering me the response of my own—these repay
me,

Lovers, continual lovers, only repay me.

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