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"The final Story, the final chapter of western man, I believe lies in Los Angeles." – Phil Ochs


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A poem By Ralph Waldo Emerson

Give to barrows, trays and pans
    Grace and glimmer of romance;
    Bring the moonlight into noon
    Hid in gleaming piles of stone;
    On the city’s paved street
    Plant gardens lined with lilacs sweet;
    Let spouting fountains cool the air,
    Singing in the sun-baked square;
    Let statue, picture, park and hall,
    Ballad, flag and festival,
    The past restore, the day adorn,
    And make to-morrow a new morn.
    So shall the drudge in dusty frock
    Spy behind the city clock
    Retinues of airy kings,
    Skirts of angels, starry wings,
    His fathers shining in bright fables,
    His children fed at heavenly tables.
    ‘T is the privilege of Art
    Thus to play its cheerful part,
    Man on earth to acclimate
    And bend the exile to his fate,
    And, moulded of one element
    With the days and firmament,
    Teach him on these as stairs to climb,
    And live on even terms with Time;
    Whilst upper life the slender rill
    Of human sense doth overfill.

Public Domain Poetry

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