The ghosts of Georgetown when they meet
In haunted house or moonlit street
With pride recall the functions gay
When down the Philadelphia way
The Federal City overnight
Moved to its bare and swampy site,
For Georgetown then a busy mart,
A growing seaport from the start,
Where a whole-hearted spirit reigned,
Threw wide its doors, and entertained
With wines and viands of the best—
The Federal City was its guest.

In memory of the good old days,
Whose ways to them were modern ways,
Congenial ghosts across Rock Creek,
With formal bows and steps antique,
Rehearse a spectral minuet
Where once in bright assemblies met—
Beruffled belles looked love to beaus
In powdered wigs and faultless hose;
Or merchant ghosts survey the skies
And venture guesses weatherwise
Regarding winds that will prevail
To speed their ships about to sail.

Still in the shaded hillside streets
A trace of old-time welcome greets
The passer-by who has a flare
For scenes of old. No longer there
A buoyant Georgetown stands alone,
The Federal City having grown
Until their boundaries overlap;
So that, deleted from the map,
Though once the Federal City's host,
Georgetown itself is now a ghost.