NEVERLAND. HAPPILAND.

This is the quiet hours; the theaters

Have gathered in their crowds, and steadily

The million lights blaze on for few to see,

Robbing the sky of stars that should be hers,

  a somber man drifts by, and only we

  pass up the street unwearied, warm and free,

For over us the olden magic stirs.

Beneath the liquid splendor of the lights

We live a little ere the charm is spent;

This night is ours, of all the golden nights,

The pavement an enchanted palace floor,

   And Youth the player on the viol, who sent

A strain of music thru an open door.


Sarah Teasdale (1884 - 1933)
BROADWAY


(sampung pasasalamat sa mga kaibigang nakasalamuha)