| |
| BEARDED old patriarchs, flippant young men, | |
| Faces from synagogue, tenement, den, | |
| Native and foreign and Gentile and Jew— | |
| Faces of every contour and hue— | |
| Bad faces, good faces, carved-out-of-wood faces, | 5 |
| Scarred faces, marred faces, tender and hard faces. | |
| Clusters and bevies of trim little Jewesses, | |
| Telling what “Abie” or “Ikey” or “Louie” says, | |
| Beauties from Italy, Russia and France, | |
| Clad in their gayest of clothes for a dance; | 10 |
| Hawksters and womenfolk bargaining, bickering, | |
| Polyglot, clamoring, bartering, dickering | |
| Under the lights that are flaring and flickering; | |
| Lovers and criminals, preachers and panderers, | |
| Lawyers and pawnbrokers, flashy philanderers. | 15 |
| Every conceivable garb for the viewing— | |
| Rags that are fluttering, silks all frou-frouing; | |
| Here shivers misery, near by we have a new | |
| Modiste’s creation as “swell as the Avenue”; | |
| Hats up to date and of hoariest lineage! | 20 |
| Simpering girls at the utterly ninny age, | |
| Babies in arms and young boys at the skinny age | |
| Mix in with fat men and beggars a-muttering, | |
| Where from the pushcarts the peddlers are sputtering | |
| Praises unending for wares they are vending; | 25 |
| Furniture, notions and kitchen utensils, | |
| Suits, furs and underwear, pictures and pencils: | |
| Stores all ablaze ’mid a babble that’s furious— | |
| Rich people, poor people, quaint folks and curious, | |
| Painted dames, queens of a doubtful society, | 30 |
| Folks and more folks in an endless variety, | |
| Scions of different nations and races | |
| Coming and going from thousands of places! | |
| Color and movement and bustle and noise, | |
| Mothers and fathers and maidens and boys, | 35 |
| Glad folks and sorrowful, dreary or cheery, | |
| Beautiful, horrible, lively or weary, | |
| Loving and hateful and sober and bleary, | |
| Glitter and grayness and laughter and pain, | |
| Passing, repassing and passing again. | 40 |
| Life!—that is all, with its mirth and its toiling, | |
| Life—like a kettle that’s bubbling and boiling, | |
| Under the glare of the merciless light— | |
| Heart of the Ghetto on Saturday night! | |
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