Verse > Anthologies > Hamilton Fish Armstrong, ed. > The Book of New York Verse
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Hamilton Fish Armstrong, ed.  The Book of New York Verse.  1917.
 
Monody on the Astor House
By Franklin P. Adams
 
LAMENT, O Muse, and heave a suspiration,
  Make me an epicedium, a threne,
An ode to fit my humid lachrimation,
  A dirge ultramarine!
For heavy I, and supercharged with woe,        5
On reading that the Astor House must go.
 
Thou noble inn where oft I (Crys of “Louder”)
  Repaired to find a frugal bit of lunch;
Where grew the city’s only perfect chowder
  And hot Jamaica punch—        10
So deep my woe that thou art to be razed
I question it can fittingly be phrazed.
 
Farewell, farewell! If Byron I may borrow—
  I read of thee in many an Alger tome,
Unthinking that, in age and bowed with sorrow,        15
  I’d spill to thee a pome;
Unknowing that some day I should deplore
The announcement that thou wert to be no more.
 
Yet though my trend be super-sentimental,
  Thine end I truly do not mind a bit;        20
My grief for that is wholly incidental,
  This is my woe, to wit:
The riveting and blasting that I hear—
Shades of the Woolworth tower!—another year!
 
 
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