| Hamilton Fish Armstrong, ed. The Book of New York Verse. 1917. | | | | Central Park | | By John Myers O’Hara |
| | | THE LITTLE lake, sequestered from the wind, | |
| Is white with swans that on its bosom sleep; | |
| A sunken mirror where the skies may keep | |
| The azure of their summer dream enshrined; | |
| Unsullied by the rim of roofs behind | 5 |
| Secluding oaks that cluster on the steep, | |
| Or ripple from the shore whose frondage deep | |
| Is cool with shadow and with fragrance kind. | |
| The tyrant city towers above the trees, | |
| Nor heeds the Attic idyl in its heart; | 10 |
| The grind of wheels and noise of feet depart, | |
| The woods are filled with fabled deities; | |
| A dream recalls them to their sylvan sway, | |
| And Mammon yields Arcadia a day. | | | | |
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