Charles Coleman Stoddard

NO rushing cars, nor tramping feet

Disturbed the peaceful summer days

That shone as now upon the street

That knows our busy noisy ways.

And blushing girls and awkward jays

Strolled slowly home, and cattle lowed

As fell the purple twilight haze,

When Broadway was a country road.

No tailored dandies, trim and neat;

No damsels of the latest craze

Of form and fashion; no conceit

To catch the fancy or amaze,

No buildings met the skyward gaze;

Nor myriad lights that nightly glowed

To set the midnight hour ablaze—

When Broadway was a country road.

Then shady lanes with blossoms sweet

Led gently down to quiet bays

Or to the sheltered, hedged retreat

Some falling mansion now betrays.

The stage-coach here no longer pays

Its daily call, nor farmer’s goad

Their oxen, as in olden days

When Broadway was a country road.

Little indeed to meet the praise

Of modern times the picture showed.

And yet the fancy fondly strays

To Broadway as a country road.