Saturday, April 29, 2006

Lyric Poetry


I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;


O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!


It does say something about
the beauty of America
that so many people want to come here
that we need a wall
to keep them out.