A spiral of green hay on the end of a rake:
The moment is sweat and sun-prick---children and old women Big in a tiny field, midgets against the mountain,
So toy-like yet so purposed you could take This for the Middle Ages
You have the grit and the guts,
I know;
You are ready to answer blow for blow You are virile, combative, stubborn, hard,
But your honor ends with your own back-yard;
O beautiful for spacious skies, For amber waves of grain, For purple mountain majesties Above the fruited plain
America
America
God shed His grace on thee And crown thy good with brotherhood From sea to shining sea...
Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.
And what of thee,
O Lincoln's Land
What gloom Is darkening above the Sunset Sea
Vowed Champion of Liberty, deplume Thy war-crest, bow thy knee,
The red stripes are flowing,
and the stars are shining bright,
but what else are you to do,
but kneel at the sight?
New England first a wilderness was
Till for a continent 'twas destin'd
From feild to feild the savage monsters runE'r yet Brittania had her work
Thy Power,
I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,
The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his as he makes ready for wo...
a novel by Richard Brautigan
HE
ER
OR
I, too, sing America.
I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,