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And if the memorials of the dead were put up indifferently
everywhere, even in the room where I
eat or sleep, I should be satisfied,
And if the corpse of any one I love, or if my own
corpse, be duly rendered to powder, and poured
in the sea, I shall be satisfied,
Or if it be distributed to the winds, I shall be satisfied.

18.

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 tableaux,
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
windows, 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
frequent and swift flash of eyes offering me love,
Offering me the response of my own—these repay
me,
Lovers, continual lovers, only repay me.