64 ROUND ABOUT CHICAGO 



loomed dark between us and the golden west, 

 its occupants softly singing. A deep serenity and 

 a great peace were upon me. I kept aloof for 

 a long time, neither stirring nor speaking nor 

 thinking; giving myself up to enjoying the glo- 

 rious spectacle, even after the gold had died out 

 and the west grew deep purple. Magically the 

 water turned from gold to precious fire opal, 

 shimmering in wonderful change of color, yet al- 

 ways true to the purple of the sovereign sky. Un- 

 til darkness settled, this enchantment held me, 

 and then I reluctantly rejoined my company. 



Our day was nearly over. To the southward 

 appeared the blinking red and white harbor lights, 

 and the Watch-dog's tower, rising like a diadem 

 amid the general illumination of the city; and as 

 we entered the river's mouth, we saw from the 

 prow, one of the gayest, and at the same time, one 

 of the most mysterious of the city's sights, the 

 river at night. 



The poet of the city is yet to come, working 

 with words or color. There are signs that he is 

 coming, he whose soul is to feel in the rush and 

 turmoil of people, the piling of steel and stone, 

 the panting of steam, the blurring of smoke, the 

 din of wheels and the flash of lights, the irresisti- 

 ble progress of humanity, and who will speak a 



