Know ye the town of the turkey and turtle?
Fit emblems of tales that are told in their clime,
Where stems of the laurel and leaves of the myrtle
Grow broad in balconies and glorious in rhyme!
Where the tongue of the news-seller never is mute,
And the orange-stands glow with their yellow cheek’d fruit,
Where the stains of the street and the smoke of the sky
And the purple of faces are darkest in dye?
Where statesmen are pure as the papers they sign.
And even the cloth of their coats superfine?—