The readers of the Boston Evening Transcript
　　Sway in the wind like a field of ripe corn.
　　When evening quickens faintly in the street,
　　Wakening the appetites of life in some
　　And to others bringing the Boston Evening Transcript,
　　I mount the steps and ring the bell, turning
　　Wearily, as one would turn to nod good-bye to Rochefoucauld,
　　If the street were time and he at the end of the street,
　　And I say, "Cousin Harriet, here is the Boston Evening Transcript."