It operates as a refuge for a civilizing element in short supply in contemporary America: honest criticism
PoemsWhiter than paper, whiter than snow,
I close my eyes and see white stars hanging in the air of the backyard. For weeks they are out there.
Whiter than music, whiter than bone,
Whitest of all white things in the world,
This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 16 June 1998, on page 36 Copyright © 2012 The New Criterion | www.newcriterion.com http://www.newcriterion.com/articles.cfm/Dogwood-3029
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