At Twilight

You are a painter—listen—

I'll paint you a picture too!

Of the long white lights that glisten

Through Michigan Avenue;

With the red lights down the middle

Where the street shines mirror-wet,

While the rain-strung sky is a fiddle

For the wind to feel and fret.

Look! far in the east great spaces

Meet out on the level lake,

Where the lit ships veil their faces

And glide like ghosts at a wake;

And up in the air, high over

The rain-shot shimmer of light,

The huge sky-scrapers hover

And shake out their stars at the night.

Oh, the city trails gold tassels

From the skirts of her purple gown,

And lifts up her commerce castles

Like a jewel-studded crown.

See, proudly she moves on, singing

Up the storm-dimmed track of time—

Road dark and dire,

Where each little light

Is a soul afire

Against the night!

Oh, grandly she marches, flinging

Her gifts at our feet, and singing!—

Have I chalked out a sketch in my rhyme ?