Margate-On-Schuylkill

I was born in this place,

Tin-can son of wooden father.

Pieced from bog and hill,

Stone and sea—

Drawn from dim wood

And the rivers under sun.

I was born in this place

And have been away

For so long that

I spent this road amazed

By fields of corn.

This was the soil

My feet first learned,

And I still believe

That space can be

A balm for mind,

That strain dissolves

In open air

On the hills of Pennsylvania.