Read "The White Cliffs" by Alice Duer Miller online for free on Textopian. Full text with search, annotations, highlights, and AI-powered reading aids.
Was this America--this my home Prohibition and Teapot Dome-- Speakeasies, night clubs, illicit stills, Dark faces peering behind dark grills, Hold-ups, kidnappings, hootch or booze-- Everyone gambling--you just can't lose, Was this my country? Even the bay At home was altered, strange ships lay At anchor, deserted day after day, Old yachts in a rusty dim decay-- Like ladies going the primrose way-- At anchor, until when the moon was black, They sailed, and often never came back.
Even my father's Puritan drawl Told me shyly he'd sold his yawl For a fabulous price to the constable's son-- My childhood's playmate, thought to be one Of a criminal gang, rum-runners all, Such clever fellows with so much money-- Even the constable thought it funny, Until one morning his son was found, Floating dead in Long Island Sound. Was this my country? It seemed like heaven To get back, dull and secure, to Devon, Loyally hiding from Lady Jean And my English friends the horrors I'd seen.