The Paean of a Pedestrian

Written While Waiting for a Chance to Cross Fifth Avenue

GEORGE S. CHAPPELL

Sing a song of motors Standing in a row,

Waiting for the signal Bidding them to go.

Tell the tale of Traffic Cluttered with machines;

Chant the lowly flivvers,

And the limousines.

Honk! Honk! A thousand honks! From the Battery to the Bronx. Now lend an ear,

My friends, and hear The diapason of today—

The motor-mad are on their way.

Klaxons hoarse

Cry "Clear the course."

Sirens wail

Their mournful scale;

Horns are tooting,

Back-fires shooting,

Bells are clanging,

Gongs are hanging,

Bugles braying, trumpets ringing, Loudly saying, loudly singing:

"Clear the way, and let us pass.

Hurry, for the love of Gas!"

See! it moves, the snaky queue, Through the traffic, thick as glue Where the cops control the passes Mid the glinting tops and brasses, Gleaming, streaming, brightly blending, Steel and wheel in reel unending! Motors large and elephantine With their occupants Levantine,

Dusty tourists, snappy racers,

Trailed by motor-cycle chasers,

Rusty cans with engines chugging, Smart sedans with lovers hugging, Murder-cars and cars for joy-rides, Run-abouts for girl-and-boy rides,

Trucks and buses, vans and drays, Taxis, landaulettes, coupes,

From the Battery to the Bronx;

"Honk! Honk! A thousand honks! Hail, our Deity serene,

Hail, the Goddess Gasoline!"