<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8" standalone="yes"?><oembed><version><![CDATA[1.0]]></version><provider_name><![CDATA[The Dish]]></provider_name><provider_url><![CDATA[http://dish.andrewsullivan.com]]></provider_url><author_name><![CDATA[Andrew Sullivan]]></author_name><author_url><![CDATA[https://dish.andrewsullivan.com/author/sullydish/]]></author_url><title><![CDATA[A Poem For&nbsp;Saturday]]></title><type><![CDATA[link]]></type><html><![CDATA[
<p> <img alt="Longisland" class="asset  asset-image at-xid-6a00d83451c45669e2017ee3fbc66d970d" src="https://sullydish.files.wordpress.com/2012/10/6a00d83451c45669e2017ee3fbc66d970d-550wi.jpg" style="width:515px;" title="Longisland" /></p>
<p>&quot;Long Island Sound&quot; by <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emma_Lazarus" target="_self">Emma Lazarus</a> (1849-1887):</p>
<blockquote>
<p> I see it as it looked one afternoon<br /> In August,&#8211;by a fresh soft breeze o’erblown.<br /> The swiftness of the tide, the light thereon,<br /> A far-off sail, white as a crescent moon.<br /> The shining waters with pale currents strewn,<br /> The quiet fishing-smacks, the Eastern cove,<br /> The semi-circle of its dark, green grove.<br /> The luminous grasses, and the merry sun<br /> In the grave sky; the sparkle far and wide,<br /> Laughter of unseen children, cheerful chirp<br /> Of crickets, and low lisp of rippling tide,<br /> Light summer clouds fantastical as sleep<br /> Changing unnoted while I gazed thereon.<br /> All these fair sounds and sights I make my own.</p>
</blockquote>
<p> (Photo by Flickr user <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/nespirit/5464308872/" target="_self">826 PARANORMAL</a>)</p>
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