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.