Set in a noisy, dusty city street, the poem contrasts the hard “canyon of granite and steel” with the soft blue sky arcing above it. Among the crowds are women the speaker calls “daughters of pleasure” — performers or sex workers, painted and feathered, weary but still “makers of joy.” At first they seem almost part of the urban machinery, tawdry and faded. But the speaker looks past the beaded lashes, rouge, and white makeup and imagines a change: with that blue April sky overhead, even in a “wasted breast” the blood runs warmer. The mood is gritty yet tender, mixing the city’s restless ugliness with a quiet moment of compassion. It suggests that spring’s reach can touch even the most tired, hidden human places.
April on the Rialto — Summary
A canyon of granite and steel, A river of grim unrest, And over the fever and street-dust Arches the azure of dream. And fretting along the tumult, Threading the iron curbs, Tawdry in tinsel and feather Drift the daughters of pleasure, The sad-eyed traders in song, The makers of joy, The Columbines of the city Seeking their ends! But under the beaded eye-lash, Under the lip with its rouge, Under the mask of white Splashed with geranium-red, As God's own arch of azure Leans softly over the street, Surely, this day, runs warmer The blood through a wasted breast!