Marvelous Coney Island

They used to talk of Bedlam and they used to talk of BabelIn allusion to confusion of exaggerated style;But in all fact and fable, since the days of Cain and Abel,No metaphor is better for the same than is an isleThat I wot of, that I got of late so generous a lot of,That I recollect the style and charivari of that islandWith a smile, and still shall do so for a while!

You plunge into the entrance of the Screaming Scenic Railway,Newly joisted, and are hoisted in a car up the incline;And surveying all that frail way in a palpitating, pale way,Go lunging down and plunging down each giddier incline,Shrilly squealing, with a feeling like a fly upon a ceiling.You are grateful when you’re through it, and you’re wiser if you do it(That’s unless you want to rue it) half an hour before you dine.

There are wooden horses prancing, there’s the switchback’s clang and clatter;Executing sudden shooting, boats are plunging in a pool;Every step a nerve you shatter, but it really doesn’t matter,It eases one and pleases one like getting out of school.So, approving stairways moving in a novel kind of grooving,And each moment of your leisure searching out a wilder pleasure,You will find the place a treasure for the periodic fool!

Oh, the voice of Coney Island, as, alighting from the trolley,You find her, and remind her that your deed should be excused!With what bombilation jolly she replies to this, your folly!She reckons you, then beckons you! Your suit is not refused!She’s a siren that a Byron might have lavished all his fire on,She’s a sorceress that spells you, that attracts you, that repels you,And ah, me! What things she tells you when you want to be amused!