Ah, in the night, all music haunts me here. . . . <br />Is it for naught high Heaven cracks and yawns <br />And the tremendous Amaranth descends <br />Sweet with the glory of ten thousand dawns? <br /> <br />Does it not mean my God would have me say: — <br />"Whether you will or no, O city young, <br />Heaven will bloom like one great flower for you, <br />Flash and loom greatly all your marts among?" <br /> <br />Friends, I will not cease hoping though you weep. <br />Such things I see, and some of them shall come <br />Though now our streets are harsh and ashen-gray, <br />Though our strong youths are strident now, or dumb. <br />Friends, that sweet town, that wonder-town, shall rise. <br />Naught can delay it. Though it may not be <br />Just as I dream, it comes at last I know <br />With streets like channels of an incense-sea.<br /><br />Vachel Lindsay<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-amaranth/
