Out of the night you burn, Manhattan, In a vesture of gold– Spun of innumerable arcs, Flaring and multiplying– Gold at the uttermost circles fading Into the tenderest hint of jade, Or fusing in tremulous twilight blues, Robing the far-flung offices, Scintillant-storied, forking flame, Or soaring to luminous amethyst Over the steeples aureoled.
