A man imagines crossing into death and asks what he would miss most. At first he considers the usual beauties of the natural world—trees, flowers, birdsong, streams, patient herds—only to dismiss them all. His deepest attachment is to Manhattan. He loves its crowds, its energy, its smells, its shining towers, its avenues, even its slums. The city feels alive to him, almost magical, and being part of it gives him a thrill. That makes the ending hit hard: the thought of being dead and never again seeing his city feels like a stark, unutterable tragedy. The mood is passionate and intensely urban, full of longing and a sense that his identity is tied to this one irreplaceable place.
My City — Summary
When I come down to sleep death’s endless night, The threshold of the unknown dark to cross, What to me then will be the keenest loss, When this bright world blurs on my fading sight? Will it be that no more I shall see the trees Or smell the flowers or hear the singing birds Or watch the flashing streams or patient herds? No, I am sure it will be none of these.
But, ah! Manhattan’s sights and sounds, her smells, Her crowds, her throbbing force, the thrill that comes From being of her a part, her subtile spells, Her shining towers, her avenues, her slums-- O God! the stark, unutterable pity, To be dead, and never again behold my city!