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.
 
The Pines, Sixty-seventh Street
By Harvey Maitland Watts
 
Central Park—Looking Southward

THOUGH winds are bleak this greening tells of May,
  Lit by the winter sunset’s trailing gleam,
And the susurrus speaks of far-a-way,
  Some mountain scarp, some hurrying woodland stream—
Yet roofed sierras crowd on every side,        5
And ceaseless flows this restless human tide.
 
 
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