Out of the night you burn, Manhattan, <br />In a vesture of gold - <br />Span of innumerable arcs, <br />Flaring and multiplying - <br />Gold at the uttermost circles fading <br />Into the tenderest hint of jade, <br />Or fusing in tremulous twilight blues, <br />Robing the far-flung offices, <br />Scintillant-storied, forking flame, <br />Or soaring to luminous amethyst <br />Over the steeples aureoled - <br /> <br />Diaphanous gold, <br />Veiling the Woolworth, argently <br />Rising slender and stark <br />Mellifluous-shrill as a vender's cry, <br />And towers squatting graven and cold <br />On the velvet bales of the dark, <br />And the Singer's appraising <br />Indolent idol's eye, <br />And night like a purple cloth unrolled - <br /> <br />Nebulous gold <br />Throwing an ephemeral glory about life's vanishing points, <br />Wherein you burn… <br />You of unknown voltage <br />Whirling on your axis… <br />Scrawling vermillion signatures <br />Over the night's velvet hoarding… <br />Insolent, towering spherical <br />To apices ever shifting.<br /><br />Lola Ridge<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/manhattan-2/
