From an old book of poetry called City Ballads

So I have come: but The City is great,
Bearing me down like a brute with its weight.
So I have come: but The City is cold,
And I am lonelier now than of old.

I bought this book with a stack of others at a used bookstore on Fifth Avenue in Hillcrest one night after dinner at the Tofu House and before ice cream at Moo Time. So many, many things are no longer in walking distance. And, yes, that's a metaphor.

Here is the whole:

WEALTH.
[From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book.]

    Here in The City I ponder,
    Through its long pathways I wander.
    These are the spires that were gleaming
    All through my juvenile dreaming.
This is The Something I heaard, far away,
When, at the close of a tired Summer day,
Resting from work on the the lap of a lawn,
Gazing to whither The Sun-god had gone,
Leaving behind him his mantles of gold--
This is The Something by which I was told:
    "Bend your head, dreamer, and listen --
    Come to my splendors that glisten!
    Either to triumph they call you,
    Or to what worst could befall you!"
This is The Something that thrilled my desires,
When the weird Morning had kindled his fires,
And the gray city of clouds in the east
Lighted its streets as for pageant or feast,
    Whisp'ring -- my spirit elating --
    "Come to me, boy, I am waiting
Bring me your muscle and spirit and brain --
Here to my glory-strewn, ruin-strewn plain!"
    Treading the trough of the furrow,
    Digging where life-rootlets burrow,
    Blade of the food-harvest swinging,
    In the barns toiling and singing,
    Breath of a bay-meadow smelling,
    Forest-trees loving and felling --
    Where'er my spirit was turning,
    Lived that mysterious yearning!
When in the old country school-house I conned
Legends of life in the broad world beyond --
When in the trim hamlet-college I cast
Wondering glances at days that were past --
Ever I longed for the walls and the streets,
And the rich conflict that energy meets!

___________

So I have come: but The City is great,
Bearing me down like a brute with its weight.
So I have come: but The City is cold,
And I am lonelier now than of old.

___________

    Yet, 'tis the same restless story:
    Even to fail here were glory!
    Grand, to be part of this ocean
    Of matter and mind and emotion!
    Here flow the streams of endeavor,
    Cityward trending forever, --
    Wheat-stalks that tassel the field,
    Harvests of opulent yield,
    Grass-blades that fence with each other,
    Flower-blossoms -- sister and brother --
    Roots that are sturdy and tender,
    Stalks in your thrift and your splendor,
    Mind that is fertile and daring,
    Face that true beauty is wearing --
    All that is strongest and fleetest,    
All that are dainty and sweetest.
Look to the domes and the glittering spires,
Waiting for you with majestic desires!
List to The City's gaunt, thunderous roar,
Calling and calling for you evermore!
Long in the fields you may labor and wait --
You and your tribe may come early or late;
Beauty and excellence dwell and will dwell
Oft amid garden and moorland and fell;
    Long generations may hold them;
    Centuries oft can enfold them;
But the rich City's they some time shall be,
Sure as the spring is the food of the sea.