The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
You shall go with me, newly-married bride, And gaze upon a merrier multitude. White-armed Nuala, Aengus of the Birds, Feachra of the hurtling form, and him Who is the ruler of the Western Host, Finvara, and their Land of Heart's Desire. Where beauty has no ebb, decay no flood, But joy is wisdom, time an endless song.
You, the Spirit of the Settlement! ... Not understand that America is God's crucible, the great melting-pot where all the races of Europe are melting and re-forming! Here, you stand, good folk, think I, when I see them at Ellis Island, here you stand in your fifty groups, with your fifty languages and histories, and your fifty blood hatreds and rivalries...
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