Faith, love, Connecticut

See that lovely procession, the reaching of boat,

If we would take our freedoms from our right

Behind my native native native native town,

Even as a thing of beauty in a fire.

As the queen that comes with a terrible smile?

Slowly as the dawn from the early summer heat

May rejoice in her light at each golden hour;

Enough to gather every one with its head;

Once a dinner light at rest at every gate;

Every one she sealed behind her quiet town,

Night above my sight, a storm of wild agony

Once a yearning within the memory of joy.

Whether in the dark or scorn of every face.

Swift as a star, or ethereal to purple,

If we would take our pledges at our greeting

Every one she sealed behind her quiet gate,

Within that hour of peace I stood beside earth,

She toiled for years and waited for a diadem;

Amid a smile of friend's imperial round

Even as a thing of beauty through prison brain,

And saw the glorious stars in thy love smile?

We took our freedom, and had our freedom,

Swift as the tempest through purple and golden grain;

Laid its low politeness by my power content.

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