Magazine February 25, 2019, Issue

Imitation

(Pixabay)

Not long ago, it seemed the fashion
To preach that man was born alone
And died that way, in somber tone,
As if no one could know one’s passion.

Yes, dreary in our solitude,
We sit propped on our wooden chair
Our thought, our anguish, every care
Trapped at an airless altitude.

But was it ever so, this posing?
The infant in his mother’s lap
Already imitates her tap
Of heart, herself himself composing.

And all our thoughts are woven from
Threads bare with crossing times before.
We tread upon an earthen floor
Mounded by prints already come.

And though shales piled as a cairn
May seem locked in their loneliness,
Aspens too stiff and mute to bless
The

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In This Issue

Articles

Features

Books, Arts & Manners

Books

Law and Disorder

Amy L. Wax reviews Misdemeanorland: Criminal Courts and Social Control in an Age of Broken Windows Policing, by Issa Kohler-Hausmann.

Sections

Letters

Letters

Readers write in to address Kevin D. WIlliamson’s essay on Antifa and Douglas Murray’s recent comments on hate crimes.
The Week

The Week

Everyone watched on television, but it was a defensive, low-scoring affair. The Super Bowl was kind of boring, too.

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