Manhattan streets with their powerful throbs, with the beating drums, as now/
The endless, noise chorus, the rustle and clank of muskets, (even the sight of the wounded/
Manhattan crowds, with their turbulent musical chorus, with varied chorus and light of the sparkling eye./
Manhattan faces and eyes forever for me.
-Walt Whitman
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
-Robert Frost
Seeing the ironic beauty of poetry often requires a lot of caffeine and good company at 2am
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