My northern pines are good enough for me, 
But there’s a town my memory uprears— 
A town that always like a friend appears, 
And always in the sunrise by the sea. 
And over it, somehow, there seems to be
A downward flash of something new and fierce, 
That ever strives to clear, but never clears 
The dimness of a charmed antiquity. 

Added: Jun 3 2005 | Viewed: 689 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Edwin Arlington Robinson
Poem: Boston
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