From reader and NR friend Matthew Mehan:

In memory of William F. Buckley, Jr.

“I call on all members” of all races,

To weep for loss and gain of graces

At the passing of one who lacks none

Of the noble traits. An Angel-Saxon,

A mighty mind with an impish hope

Of blending clan with misanthrope,

A champion of the inky lance,

Who wryly smiled and looked askance

At German Marx and Russian bears

In full advance from distant lairs.

Dame Liberty, all but bowed,

The shining city, weak and cowed,

The ways of old, they too seemed lost,

Mere artifacts in permafrost.

History with his thunderous roar

Crowed like fate and waved his sword:

“Communal state, communal press,

Communal manufactured dress!

Communal farm, communal crop—”

Till God and Man at Last cried “Stop!”