The Old Erebus |
But, like the depraved giant of Greek fame, |
With conquering whims that tweet from hand to hand; |
Here at our white-washed, prison wall shall guard |
A weighty no-man with a lurch, whose lame |
Excuses rain like lightning, and his name |
Hater of Others. From his bacon-hand |
Grows mouth-wide sneer; his blind eyes command |
The liar. Rigged ardor, that gives citizens blame. |
“Keep, lands ancient, your pomp storied!” cries he |
With widened lips. “Send not your tired, your poor, |
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, |
The wretched refuse of my egoistic snore. |
Send those, the homeless, tempest-tossed home, |
or to light my lamp beside the
golden door!” © Tracy Kolenchuk, Healthicine |