By Luella Stewart
The moon was misty last night—
It hung in the sombre sky
Like a wistful wondering eye
Or a sad wraith that slips from sight.
But the lights on the Joyous Way
Shone brighter than moon or star,
High up where the Mint Men are
And the Kitten and Spool at play!
And so, if you wept, old Moon,
If grief was your mantle gray,
Why, what is the moon to Broadway?
(A rhyme for a jazz-time tune—
June, croon, spoon, soon!)—
And what is Broadway—to the Moon?
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