Now it may be, the flower for me
    Is this beneath my nose;
  How shall I tell, unless I smell
    The Carthaginian rose?

  The fabric of my faithful love
    No power shall dim or ravel
  Whilst I stay here,—but oh, my dear,
    If I should ever travel!

Macdougal Street

  As I went walking up and down to take the evening air,
    (Sweet to meet upon the street, why must I be so shy?)
  I saw him lay his hand upon her torn black hair;
    ("Little dirty Latin child, let the lady by!")

  The women squatting on the stoops were slovenly and fat,
    (Lay me out in organdie, lay me out in lawn!)
  And everywhere I stepped there was a baby or a cat;
    (Lord God in Heaven, will it never be dawn?)

  The fruit-carts and clam-carts were ribald as a fair,
    (Pink nets and wet shells trodden under heel)
  She had haggled from the fruit-man of his rotting ware;
    (I shall never get to sleep, the way I feel!)

  He walked like a king through the filth and the clutter,
    (Sweet to meet upon the street, why did you glance me by?)
  But he caught the quaint Italian quip she flung him from the gutter;
    (What can there be to cry about that I should lie