Classic and Contemporary Poetry
AT THE EMBASSY, by LOUIS JONES MAGEE First Line: Well, vision from the distant west Last Line: They haven't the ambassador. Subject(s): Travel; Journeys; Trips | ||||||||
WELL, vision from the distant West, What brought you hither? What's your quest? Just come? What ship? What sent you? Come here to study or to rest? Unless you've altered your career, 'T is chiefly for the rest, I fear. Come on, and I'll present you To some of your compatriots here. On many such a jour de fete We gather here to celebrate The common ties that bind us, The glories of our land and state. For wanderers like you and me It's good to have a cup of tea With people who remind us Of all we love beyond the sea. This titled lady here we claim; She's foreign only in her name. That beauty there in purple Is keeping up her nation's fame: She makes the Europeans stare. Our countrywomen get their share Of praise in the court circle. Now you must meet our Secretaire. When (as in every other trade) Experience and tact are made A diplomat's conditions, His labors here will be repaid. That dash of chiffon, chic, and grace, That dream of loveliness and lace, Are recent acquisitions; The taller has a Gibson face. And here's the man we rally 'round, The exiles' help on alien ground, Poor man, our churchless Pastor. These travellers love the gospel sound, But leave more nickel here than gold. The building fund grows some, we're told, The colony grows faster. So many sheep should have a fold. The Consul does look distingue. Ah! there's the Naval Attache, And those are his two sisters. The greybeard with them, by the way, Been here a score of years or so; Has seen the envoys come and go When they were still Ministres, A sort of permanence, you know. If new-world qualities do spoil By contact with this foreign soil, It is a satisfaction That (as for governmental toil) Our rulers show much skill and sense. Trust then that foreign residence Shall not have time for action On diplomatic eminence! I wish I wore a uniform! The officers just seem to swarm Around that pretty heiress. They say she took the court by storm. She's just from home, refreshing sight, And, if I judge the fashions right, She came by way of Paris. You're going? Well, old man, good-night. Yes, we're a migratory band; One grasps almost a welcoming hand To bid farewell; we're all in motion. Sometimes we miss the native land And wonder what we left it for; But still we colonists have more Than all they have beyond the ocean, They haven't the Ambassador. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RICHARD, WHAT'S THAT NOISE? by RICHARD HOWARD LOOKING FOR THE GULF MOTEL by RICHARD BLANCO RIVERS INTO SEAS by LYNDA HULL DESTINATIONS by JOSEPHINE JACOBSEN THE ONE WHO WAS DIFFERENT by RANDALL JARRELL THE CONFESSION OF ST. JIM-RALPH by DENIS JOHNSON SESTINA: TRAVEL NOTES by WELDON KEES TO H. B. (WITH A BOOK OF VERSE) by MAURICE BARING A FAMILY FAVORITE by LOUIS JONES MAGEE |
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