Over the Western sea hither from Niphon come，

    Courteous¹， the swart-cheek'd two-sworded envoys²，

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

    Ride to-day through Manhattan.

    Libertad！ I do not know whether others behold³ what I behold，

    In the procession along with the nobles of Niphon， the

    errand-bearers，

    Bringing up the rear， hovering⁴ above， around， or in the ranks

    marching，

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

    When million-footed Manhattan unpent descends⁶ 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 salutes⁷，

    When the fire-flashing guns have fully⁸ alerted me， and heaven

    clouds canopy⁹ my city with a delicate thin haze¹⁰，

    When gorgeous the countless¹¹ straight stems， the forests at

    the wharves¹²， thicken with colors，

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

    When pennants¹³ trail and street-festoons hang from the

    windows，

    When Broadway is entirely¹⁴ given up to foot-passengers and

    foot-standers， when the mass is densest¹⁵，

    When the facades¹⁶ of the houses are alive with people， when

    eyes gaze riveted¹⁷ tens of thousands at a time，

    When the guests from the islands advance， when the pageant¹⁸

    moves forward visible，

    When the summons is made， when the answer that waited

    thousands of years answers，

    I too arising， answering， descend⁵ to the pavements， merge¹⁹

    with the crowd， and gaze with them.