“View of Boston,’’ by J. J. Hawes, c. 1860s–1880s
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.
— “Boston,’’ by Edwin Arlington Robinson (1869-1935)
