Over the Western sea hither from Niphon come，

Courteous， the swart-cheek'd two-sworded envoys，

Leaning back in their open barouches， bare-headed， impassive，

Ride to-day through Manhattan.

Libertad！ I do not know whether others behold what I behold，

In the procession along with the nobles of Niphon， the

errand-bearers，

Bringing up the rear， hovering above， around， or in the ranks

marching，

But I will sing you a song of what I behold Libertad.

When million-footed Manhattan unpent descends to her

pavements，

When the thunder-cracking guns arouse me with the proud

roar I love，

When the round-mouth'd guns out of the smoke and smell I

love spit their salutes，

When the fire-flashing guns have fully alerted me， and heaven

clouds canopy my city with a delicate thin haze，

When gorgeous the countless straight stems， the forests at

the wharves， thicken with colors，

When every ship richly drest carries her flag at the peak，

When pennants trail and street-festoons hang from the

windows，

When Broadway is entirely given up to foot-passengers and

foot-standers， when the mass is densest，

When the facades of the houses are alive with people， when

eyes gaze riveted tens of thousands at a time，

When the guests from the islands advance， when the pageant

moves forward visible，

When the summons is made， when the answer that waited

thousands of years answers，

I too arising， answering， descend to the pavements， merge

with the crowd， and gaze with them.