the gift outright

It’s been awhile since poetry was on so prominent a national stage. And with due respect to Elizabeth Alexander (to her credit, few occasional poems, especially those that speak directly to the occasion, are all that glorious), she was no Robert Frost. At JFK’s inauguration, Frost intended to read Dedication but, blinded by the glare, was unable to see his notes. Instead, he recited by heart an older poem, written in 1942.

THE GIFT OUTRIGHT

Robert Frost

The land was ours before we were the land’s.

She was our land more than a hundred years

Before we were her people. She was ours

In Massachusetts, in Virginia,

But we were England’s, still colonials,

Possessing what we still were unpossessed by,

Possessed by what we now no more possessed.

Something we were withholding made us weak

Until we found out that it was ourselves

We were withholding from our land of living,

And forthwith found salvation in surrender.

Such as we were we gave ourselves outright

(The deed of gift was many deeds of war)

To the land vaguely realizing westward,

But still unstoried, artless, unenhanced,

Such as she was, such as she would become.