| Hamilton Fish Armstrong, ed. The Book of New York Verse. 1917. | | | | A Faun in Wall Street | | By John Myers O’Hara |
| | | WHAT shape so furtive steals along the dim | |
| Bleak street, barren of throngs, this day of June; | |
| This day of rest, when all the roses swoon | |
| In Attic vales where dryads wait for him? | |
| What sylvan this, and what the stranger whim | 5 |
| That lured him here this golden afternoon; | |
| Ways where the dusk has fallen oversoon | |
| In the deep canyon, torrentless and grim? | |
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| Great Pan is far, O mad estray, and these | |
| Bare walls that leap to heaven and hide the skies | 10 |
| Are fanes men rear to other deities; | |
| Far to the East the haunted woodland lies, | |
| And cloudless still, from cyclad-dotted seas, | |
| Hymettus and the hills of Hellas rise. | | | | |
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