Presidential poetry
This poem by John Quincy Adams, often said to have been the best Presidential poet, suffers from a hyperbolic last stanza. In the spirit of Eratosphere, I have fixed it.
To Miss Anna McKnight
Fair Anna, how shall I describe
My bosom’s deep reflection,
Call’d in thy Album to inscribe
The tribute of Affection?
To say I love thee were too bold –
Love, is a youthful Passion
And three score Winters are too cold
For Spring and Summer’s Fashion
I cannot offer thee my heart –
That, long has been another’s –
For me, too warm the Lover’s past:
Not warm enough the brother’s –
Thy Father, Anna, Shall I be?
That Sentiment is cheering –
But inward looking, soon I see
An impulse more endearing.
The bloom of Friendship, Sweetly blows
Nor Spinning heads, nor toiling:
But calm, the blood of Friendship flows;
And mine for thee is boiling.
Any pulses, mix’d emotions blend,
Unchang’d by Wind or Weather –
Of Lover – Brother – Father – Friend
So take them all together.
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The bloom of Friendship, Sweetly blows
Nor Spinning heads, nor storming:
But calm, the blood of Friendship flows;
And mine for thee is warming.
Any pulses, mix’d emotions blend,
Unchang’d by Wind or Climate –
Of Lover – Brother – Father – Friend --
They all describe where I'm at.
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