Carnegie Hill Village
Staying connected in your own community
This sort of April day inspires madness
Deep aquamarine sky, warm sun tentatively returns.
There’s a crimson tinge to the trees, but
No greenery yet. The tart breeze, its
Insistence, its playful presence, is not
The shadows have their seasons, too.
The feathery web the budding maples
cast down upon the sullen lawn
bears but a faint relation to
high summer's umbrageous weight
and tunnellike continuum—
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he’ll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: then shall our names.
Familiar in his mouth as household words…
Start spreading the news
I'm leaving today
I want to be a part of it, New York, New York
These vagabond shoes
Are longing to stray
And make a brand new start of it
New York, New York
I want to wake up in the city that doesn't sleeps
Whether on Ida's shady brow,
Or in the chambers of the East,
The chambers of the sun, that now
From ancient melody have ceas'd;
Whether in Heav'n ye wander fair,
Or the green corners of the earth,
The changing light at San Francisco
is none of your East Coast light
none of your
pearly light of Paris
The light of San Francisco
Than softly falling snow
Fussing over every flake
And making sure
It won’t wake someone.
To feel and speak the astonishing beauty of things – earth,
stone and water,
Beast, man and woman, sun, moon and stars –
The blood-shot beauty of human nature, its thoughts,
frenzies and passions,
Lift every voice and sing
Till earth and heaven ring,
Ring with the harmonies of Liberty;
Let our rejoicing rise
High as the listening skies,
Let it resound loud as the rolling sea.
Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us,
Swifts turn in the heights of the air;
higher still turn the invisible stars.
When day withdraws to the ends of the earth
their fires shine on a dark expanse of sand.