Over the Western sea hither from Niphon come,
Courteous1, the swart-cheek'd two-sworded envoys2,
Leaning back in their open barouches, bare-headed, impassive,
Ride to-day through Manhattan.
Libertad! I do not know whether others behold3 what I behold,
In the procession along with the nobles of Niphon, the
errand-bearers,
Bringing up the rear, hovering4 above, around, or in the ranks
marching,
But I will sing you a song of what I behold Libertad.
When million-footed Manhattan unpent descends6 to her
pavements,
When the thunder-cracking guns arouse me with the proud
roar I love,
When the round-mouth'd guns out of the smoke and smell I
love spit their salutes7,
When the fire-flashing guns have fully8 alerted me, and heaven
clouds canopy9 my city with a delicate thin haze10,
When gorgeous the countless11 straight stems, the forests at
the wharves12, thicken with colors,
When every ship richly drest carries her flag at the peak,
When pennants13 trail and street-festoons hang from the
windows,
When Broadway is entirely14 given up to foot-passengers and
foot-standers, when the mass is densest15,
When the facades16 of the houses are alive with people, when
eyes gaze riveted17 tens of thousands at a time,
When the guests from the islands advance, when the pageant18
moves forward visible,
When the summons is made, when the answer that waited
thousands of years answers,
I too arising, answering, descend5 to the pavements, merge19
with the crowd, and gaze with them.