We're travelling, and we're here! and what a town! I own, it picks me up and sets me down! I thought I had some idea of the place, And what its corporation lines embrace;
I'd read the county papers every week, Which seldom failed “From Washington” to speak; I'd travelled through these streets by photograph, And, with Imagination for a staff,
Had wandered round, in little trips disjointed, Even where the artist's brass gun has not pointed; And so I said, “Though I would n't like to miss it, ‘ Twill be a good deal like a second visit.”
But‘ tis n't an easy perpetrated scheme To prophesy how anything will seem. This city's new to me — I do not doubt it — As if I'd never heard a word about it!
There's something in these white-clothed buildings’ glare, And something even in the very air, And in the great variety of faces, Bearing the ear-marks of a thousand places,
And in that monument that reaches high — The farthest stone has climbed into the sky, And in that dome, whose kingly size and height Contrive, where'er you are, to keep in sight —
From these, and several hundred other things This nation's lead-horse city at you flings, You feel as if you'd stepped, through many a mile, Into another planet for a while!
But men too weary to hold up their heads Are apt to bless the manwho first made beds; Then, having found one, and reclined within it, Forget about him in just half a minute.
So I'll let Morpheus ( who is at me winking ) Do the remainder of this evening's thinking. Or woman — let due praise to her be paid; A bed is never made until‘ tis made.
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