I’m tired of all the quaintness
And the faded fresco’s faintness,
Of dusty musty sacristies
With saints along the walls;
I’m very sick of Giotto
And Massaccio and Lotto,
And of dingy Lady chapels
With black worm-eaten stalls.
I’m sick of pictures by the mile
And virgins with an endless smile,
I’m tired of “things you ought to see”
And “things you ought to do.”
I’d like to show these Florentines
What Broadway in Manhattan means,
And oh I’d like to walk today
Along Fifth Avenue!
- Sara Teasdale