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1850–1919

THE CITY.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

I own the charms of lovely Nature; still, In human nature more delight I find. Though sweet the murmuring voices of the rill, I much prefer the voices of my kind.

I like the roar of cities. In the mart, Where busy toilers strive for place and gain, I seem to read humanity’ s great heart, And share its hopes, its pleasures, and its pain.

The rush of hurrying trains that cannot wait, The tread of myriad feet, all say to me: “You are the architect of your own fate; Toil on, hope on, and dare to do and be.”

I like the jangled music of the loud Bold bells; the whistle’ s sudden shrill reply; And there is inspiration in a crowd — A magnetism flashed from eye to eye.

My sorrows all seem lightened and my joys Augmented when the comrade world walks near; Close to mankind my soul best keeps its poise. Give me the great town’ s bustle, strife, and noise

And let who will, hold Nature’ s calm more dear.

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THE CITY. · Ella Wheeler Wilcox · Poetry Cove