Robert Underwood Johnson (1853–1937)

CITY of homes and in my heart my home,

Though other streets exact a grudging fee:—

How leap my pulses when afar I see

The dawn creep whitening down thy solemn dome!

For now my care-restricted steps may roam

Thy urban groves—a forest soon to be—

Where, like thy shining river, placid, free,

Contentment dwells and beckons me to come.

Ah, city dear to lovers!—that dost keep

For their delight what Mays and what Novembers!—

Kindling the flame, and if it ever sleep,

New-lighting it within the breathing embers;

Dear even in their sorrow! for when they weep

’T is for rare joys, scarce known till Love remembers.