Leaves of Grass

  City of orgies, walks and joys,
  City whom that I have lived and sung in your midst will one day make
  Not the pageants of you, not your shifting tableaus, your
      spectacles, repay me,
  Not the interminable rows of your houses, nor the ships at the wharves,
  Nor the processions in the streets, nor the bright windows with
      goods in them,
  Nor to converse with learn’d persons, or bear my share in the soiree
      or feast;
  Not those, but as I pass O Manhattan, your frequent and swift flash
      of eyes offering me love,
  Offering response to my own—these repay me,
  Lovers, continual lovers, only repay me.