Summer 1955 • Vol. XVII No. 3 Poetry |

I Am an Old Town-Square

Come closer, build on me. . . . My land has wrapped her History round me in a sevenfold quilt, Whose layers are towns.            A crass and tinny scepter, Such as the brasher kind of dynasts tilt, Is all my courtyard holds of my first tribe. Their names? Their fame? No interesting guilt Of Overreach coaxed footnotes from a scribe; Their centuries were rain my gutters swilled. Such songless wooers it was joy to jilt. Plague was my second town. Plague's jig-tune shrilled The widest music-scroll of all the planet, Black notes of coffins on my page of granite. Next, pilgrims found that coffin-wood and built A pleasure town of wine and love. (My third.) A thousand years they belched and strewed their milt. What did time save of them? One dried up turd. A trade-town's fourth, with art so polychrome—Such holiness from huckstering distilled—That nomads, fabulously furred and pearled, Would rather starve there than be kings at home. My fifth to

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By Peter Viereck

Come closer, build on me. . . . My land has wrapped her History round me in a sevenfold quilt, Whose layers are towns.            A crass and tinny scepter, Such […]

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Come closer, build on me. . . . My land has wrapped her History round me in a sevenfold quilt, Whose layers are towns.            A crass and tinny scepter, Such […]

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