LITTLE ROCK — We looked upon a world unknown, On nothing we could call our own. . . .
The old familiar sights of ours Took marvellous shapes; strange domes and towers Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood, Or garden-wall, or belt of wood;
A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed, A fenceless drift what once was road;
The bridle-post an old man sat With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat;
The well-curb had a Chinese roof;
And even the long sweep, high aloof, In its slant spendor, seemed to tell Of Pisa’s leaning miracle.
Editorial, Pages 12 on 12/27/2012