APRIL ON THE RIALTO

A canyon of granite and steel,

A river of grim unrest,

And over the fever and street-dust

Arches the azure of dream.

And fretting along the tumult,

Threading the iron curbs,

Tawdry in tinsel and feather

Drift the daughters of pleasure,

The sad-eyed traders in song,

The makers of joy,

The Columbines of the city

Seeking their ends!

But under the beaded eye-lash,

Under the lip with its rouge,

Under the mask of white

Splashed with geranium-red,

As God's own arch of azure

Leans softly over the street,

Surely, this day, runs warmer

The blood through a wasted breast!