Boston by Edwin Arlington Robinson
My northern pines are good enough for me,
But thereâ€™s a town my memory uprearsâ€”
A town that always like a friend appears,
And always in the sunrise by the sea.
And over it, somehow, there seems to be
A downward flash of something new and fierce,
That ever strives to clear, but never clears
The dimness of a charmed antiquity.