Courtesy of the Kalamazoo Public Library's Local History Department, a poetic reflection on regional cultchyah. Extra credit to anyone who can translate its concluding epigram.
From the madding crowd they stand apart,
The maidens four and the Work of Art;
And none might tell from sight alone
In which had Culture ripest grown--
The Gotham Million fair to see,
The Philadelphia Pedigree,
The Boston Mind of Azure hue,
Or the soulful Soul from Kalamazoo--
For all loved art in a seemly way,
With an earnest soul and a capital A.
Long they worshipped; but no one broke
The sacred stillness, until up spoke
The Western one from the nameless place,
Who, blushing, said: "What a lovely vase!"
Over three faces a sad smile flew,
And they edged away from Kalamazoo.
But Gotham's haughty soul was stirred
To crush the stranger with one small word.
Deftly hiding reproof in praise,
She cries: "'Tis, indeed, a lovely vaze!"
But brief her unlovely triumph when
The lofty one from the house of Penn,
With the consciousness of two grandpapas,
Exclaims: "It is quite a lovely vahs!"
And glances around with an anxious thrill,
Awaiting the word of Beacon Hill.
But the Boston maid smiles courteouslee
And gently murmurs: "Oh pardon me!
I did not catch your remark, because
I was so entranced with that lovely vaws!"
Dies irit praegelida
Sinistra quum Bostonia
James Jeffrey Roche