Here she is again, old Worm-beak,
Breast the color of a mud lake,
Perched on a post of the rail fence,
An eye of shining insolence.
Frowzy, windblown, she whistles twice
Some notes retrieved from Paradise,
Swoops and spears the lawn and is gone
Into the cherry’s greening crown.
Dear Reader,
Can I be direct with you?
War abroad. Socialists on the rise. AI upending human life. Endless uproar online. The modern attention economy doesn’t want readers — it wants users enslaved to the tyranny of the present.
First Things is the antidote: literary excellence, timeless truths, and a fixed point of reference in a culture that has lost its bearings.
But we can’t do it without readers like you.
Our goal: Raise $150,000 by November 1 to sustain First Things in the year ahead.
Your gift anchors readers in the permanent things.
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If you have any questions or would like more information, please contact Giovanni Del Piero, Director of the Editor’s Circle, at gdelpiero@firstthings.com or 212-627-1985.
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