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StandardEbooksCollections/william-carlos-williams/se-ebooks-william-carlos-williams-xhtml/william-carlos-williams_poetry.xhtml

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<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?>
<!DOCTYPE html>
<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xmlns:epub="http://www.idpf.org/2007/ops" lang="en-US" epub:prefix="z3998: http://www.daisy.org/z3998/2012/vocab/structure/, se: https://standardebooks.org/vocab/1.0" xml:lang="en-US">
<head>
<title>Poetry</title>
<meta content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1" name="viewport"/>
<link rel="canonical" href="https://standardebooks.org/ebooks/william-carlos-williams/poetry/text/single-page" />
<style><![CDATA[
@namespace epub "http://www.idpf.org/2007/ops";
/* core.css */
body{
font-variant-numeric: oldstyle-nums;
hyphens: auto;
text-wrap: pretty;
}
p{
margin: 0;
text-indent: 1em;
}
hr{
border: none;
border-top: 1px solid;
height: 0;
margin: 1.5em auto;
width: 25%;
}
q::before,
q::after{
content: "";
}
blockquote{
margin: 1em 2.5em;
}
h1,
h2,
h3,
h4,
h5,
h6,
hgroup{
break-after: avoid;
break-inside: avoid;
font-variant: small-caps;
hyphens: none;
margin: 3em 0;
text-align: center;
}
/* simulate h3 in an hgroup */
hgroup h2 + p{
font-size: 1.17em;
}
/* simulate h4 in an hgroup */
hgroup h2 + p + p,
hgroup h3 + p{
font-size: 1em;
}
/* simulate h5 in an hgroup */
hgroup h2 + p + p + p,
hgroup h3 + p + p,
hgroup h4 + p{
font-size: .83em;
}
/* simulate h6 in an hgroup */
hgroup h2 + p + p + p + p,
hgroup h3 + p + p + p,
hgroup h4 + p + p,
hgroup h5 + p{
font-size: .67em;
}
hgroup > *{
font-weight: normal;
margin: 0;
}
hgroup > *:first-child{
font-weight: bold;
}
hgroup > p{
text-indent: 0;
}
p.continued,
h2 + p,
h3 + p,
h4 + p,
h5 + p,
h6 + p,
header + p,
hr + p,
hgroup + p,
p:first-child{
hanging-punctuation: first last;
text-indent: 0;
}
cite{
font-style: normal;
}
abbr{
border: none;
white-space: nowrap;
}
blockquote cite{
display: block;
font-style: italic;
text-align: right;
}
blockquote cite i{
font-style: normal;
}
b,
strong{
font-variant: small-caps;
font-weight: normal;
}
i > i,
em > i,
i > em{
font-style: normal;
}
ol,
ul{
margin-bottom: 1em;
margin-top: 1em;
}
header{
break-after: avoid;
break-inside: avoid;
hyphens: none;
text-align: center;
}
header > * + p{
text-indent: 0;
}
article > header + *,
section > header + *{
margin-top: 3em;
}
a[epub|type~="noteref"]{
font-size: smaller;
font-style: normal !important;
vertical-align: super;
}
section[epub|type~="endnotes"] > ol > li{
margin: 1em 0;
}
/* Invert images in dark mode. RMSDK requires a target media as well as a state. */
@media all and (prefers-color-scheme: dark){
img[epub|type~="se:image.color-depth.black-on-transparent"]{
filter: invert(100%);
}
img[epub|type~="se:image.color-depth.black-on-transparent"][epub|type~="se:image.style.realistic"]{
background: currentColor;
filter: none;
}
}
/* se.css */
/* This may appear in the colophon */
abbr[epub|type~="se:era"]{
font-variant: all-small-caps;
}
section[epub|type~="titlepage"] h1,
section[epub|type~="titlepage"] p,
section[epub|type~="colophon"] h2,
section[epub|type~="imprint"] h2{
left: -999em;
position: absolute;
}
section[epub|type~="titlepage"] img{
display: block;
margin: 3em auto auto auto;
width: 100%;
}
section[epub|type~="colophon"],
section[epub|type~="imprint"]{
text-align: center;
}
section[epub|type~="colophon"] header,
section[epub|type~="imprint"] header{
line-height: 0;
margin-top: 3em;
}
img[epub|type~="z3998:publisher-logo"]{
max-width: 25%;
width: 220px;
}
section[epub|type~="colophon"] p,
section[epub|type~="imprint"] p{
margin: 1em auto 0 auto;
text-indent: 0;
}
section[epub|type~="imprint"] p{
font-size: smaller;
text-align: justify;
width: 75%;
}
section[epub|type~="colophon"] p + p::before{
border-top: 1px solid;
content: "";
display: block;
margin: auto auto 1em auto;
width: 25%;
}
section[epub|type~="colophon"] p:nth-last-child(2) time{
font-variant: small-caps;
}
section[epub|type~="colophon"] a{
font-variant: small-caps;
}
section[epub|type~="imprint"] a,
section[epub|type~="colophon"] a{
hyphens: none;
}
section[epub|type~="copyright-page"] p{
margin: 1em auto;
text-indent: 0;
}
section[epub|type~="copyright-page"] blockquote p{
font-style: italic;
text-align: initial;
text-indent: 0;
}
section[epub|type~="copyright-page"] blockquote p span{
display: block;
padding-left: 1em;
text-indent: -1em;
}
section[epub|type~="copyright-page"] blockquote br{
display: none;
}
/* local.css */
article,
section{
break-after: page;
}
[epub|type~="z3998:poem"] [epub|type~="dedication"]{
font-variant: small-caps;
text-align: center;
}
[epub|type~="z3998:poem"] p{
text-align: initial;
text-indent: 0;
}
[epub|type~="z3998:poem"] p + p{
margin-top: 1em;
}
[epub|type~="z3998:poem"] p > span{
display: block;
padding-left: 1em;
text-indent: -1em;
}
[epub|type~="z3998:poem"] p > span + br{
display: none;
}
p span.i1{
padding-left: 2em;
text-indent: -1em;
}
p span.i2{
padding-left: 3em;
text-indent: -1em;
}
p span.i3{
padding-left: 4em;
text-indent: -1em;
}
p span.i4{
padding-left: 5em;
text-indent: -1em;
}
p span.i5{
padding-left: 6em;
text-indent: -1em;
}
p span.i6{
padding-left: 7em;
text-indent: -1em;
}
p span.i7{
padding-left: 8em;
text-indent: -1em;
}
p span.i8{
padding-left: 9em;
text-indent: -1em;
}
p span.i9{
padding-left: 10em;
text-indent: -1em;
}
p span.i10{
padding-left: 11em;
text-indent: -1em;
}
p span.i11{
padding-left: 12em;
text-indent: -1em;
}
[epub|type~="z3998:poem"] hgroup p{
text-align: center;
}
/* web.css */
body{
display: flex;
flex-direction: column;
font-family: "Georgia", serif;
font-size: 18px;
margin: 0;
line-height: 1.5;
}
main{
flex-grow: 1;
margin: 5rem auto 3rem;
max-width: 55ch;
padding: 0 3rem;
width: calc(100% - 2 * 3rem); /* calc instead of box-sizing: border-box which would make max-width count padding */
}
body > header{
all: unset; /* Remove any properties set by selectors in the ebook itself */
background: #fff;
border-bottom: 1px solid #999;
box-shadow: 0 0 3px #ccc;
left: 0;
position: absolute;
right: 0;
top: 0;
z-index: 1000; /* Required so that SVGs don't scroll over the header */
}
body > header ul{
align-items: center;
display: flex;
list-style: none;
margin: 0;
padding: 1em;
gap: 1.5em;
}
body > header li:first-child{
margin-right: auto;
}
body > header li:first-child > a{
background: no-repeat center / 100% url("/images/logo-full.svg");
display: block;
font-size: 0;
height: 42px;
transition: transform 200ms ease;
width: 180px;
}
body > header li:first-child > a:hover{
transform: scale(1.025) rotate(1deg);
}
body > footer ul{
display: flex;
justify-content: space-between;
list-style: none;
margin: 0;
padding: 0.5em 1em;
}
body > footer li{
max-width: 40%;
}
body > main > section[epub|type~="titlepage"],
body > main > section[epub|type~="halftitlepage"]{
}
nav + section,
section + nav,
section + section,
section + article,
article + section,
article + article{
box-sizing: border-box;
margin-top: 12em !important;
padding: 0;
}
nav[epub|type~="toc"] ol{
list-style: none;
}
@media(max-width: 65ch){
main{
padding: 0 2rem;
width: calc(100% - 2 * 2rem);
}
section[epub|type~="imprint"] p{
width: 100%;
}
}
@media(max-width: 450px){
body > header > nav > ul{
flex-wrap: wrap;
}
body > header > nav > ul > li > a{
font-size: .8rem;
}
body > header li:first-child > a{
background: no-repeat center / 100% url("/images/logo-small.svg");
width: 31px;
height: 20px;
}
}
@media(prefers-color-scheme: dark){
body,
body > header{
background: #222222;
color: #ffffff;
}
/* These three link colors provide WCAG AAA compliance at 16px */
a:link{
color: #6bb9f0;
}
a:active{
color: #e6cc22;
}
a:visited{
color: #dda0dd;
}
body > header li:first-child > a,
img[epub|type~="se:image.color-depth.black-on-transparent"]{
filter: invert(1);
}
}
/* As of July 2022 Chrome on Android doesn't yet understand `or (pointer: none)`
and will just drop this entire query together if it's included. */
@media(pointer: coarse){
body > header{
position: fixed;
}
body > header li:first-child > a{
height: 21px;
width: 90px;
}
nav[epub|type~="toc"] ol li{
margin-bottom: 2em;
margin-top: 2em;
}
*:target{
scroll-margin-top: 4em;
}
}
@media((max-width: 450px) and (pointer: coarse)){
body > header li:first-child > a{
width: 31px;
height: 20px;
}
}
]]></style>
</head>
<body><main>
<section id="titlepage" epub:type="titlepage frontmatter">
<h1 epub:type="title">Poetry</h1>
<p>By <b epub:type="z3998:personal-name z3998:author">William Carlos Williams</b>.</p>
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epub:type="se:image.color-depth.black-on-transparent"/>
</section>
<nav id="toc" epub:type="toc">
<h2 epub:type="title">Table of Contents</h2>
<ol>
<li>
<a href="#titlepage">Titlepage</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#imprint">Imprint</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#peace-on-earth">Peace on Earth</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#postlude">Postlude</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#first-praise">First Praise</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#homage">Homage</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-fools-song">The Fool’s Song</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#from-the-birth-of-venus-song">From “The Birth of Venus,” Song</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#immortal">Immortal</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#mezzo-forte">Mezzo Forte</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#an-after-song">An After Song</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#crude-lament">Crude Lament</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-ordeal">The Ordeal</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-death-of-franco-of-cologne-his-prophecy-of-beethoven">The Death of Franco of Cologne: His Prophecy of Beethoven</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#portent">Portent</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#con-brio">Con Brio</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#ad-infinitum" lang="la" xml:lang="la">Ad Infinitum</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#el-romancero">Translations from the Spanish, “El Romancero”</a>
<ol>
<li>
<a href="#el-romancero-1" epub:type="z3998:roman">I</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#el-romancero-2" epub:type="z3998:roman">II</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#el-romancero-3" epub:type="z3998:roman">III</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#el-romancero-4" epub:type="z3998:roman">IV</a>
</li>
</ol>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#hic-jacet">Hic Jacet</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#contemporania">Contemporania</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#to-wish-myself-courage">To Wish Myself Courage</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#sub-terra">Sub Terra</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#pastoral-1">Pastoral</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#chickory-and-daisies">Chickory and Daisies</a>
<ol>
<li>
<a href="#chickory-and-daisies-1" epub:type="z3998:roman">I</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#chickory-and-daisies-2" epub:type="z3998:roman">II</a>
</li>
</ol>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#metric-figure">Metric Figure</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#woman-walking">Woman Walking</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#gulls">Gulls</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#appeal">Appeal</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#in-harbor">In Harbor</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#winter-sunset">Winter Sunset</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#apology">Apology</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#pastoral-2">Pastoral</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#love-song-1">Love Song</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#m-b">
<abbr class="eoc" epub:type="z3998:personal-name">M. B.</abbr>
</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#tract">Tract</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#promenade">Promenade</a>
<ol>
<li>
<a href="#promenade-1" epub:type="z3998:roman">I</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#promenade-2" epub:type="z3998:roman">II</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#promenade-3" epub:type="z3998:roman">III</a>
</li>
</ol>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#el-hombre">El Hombre</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#hero">Hero</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#libertad-igualdad-fraternidad">Libertad! Igualdad! Fraternidad!</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#canthara">Canthara</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#mujer">Mujer</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#summer-song">Summer Song</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#love-song-2">Love Song</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#foreign">Foreign</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#a-prelude">A Prelude</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#history">History</a>
<ol>
<li>
<a href="#history-1" epub:type="z3998:roman">I</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#history-2" epub:type="z3998:roman">II</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#history-3" epub:type="z3998:roman">III</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#history-4" epub:type="z3998:roman">IV</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#history-5" epub:type="z3998:roman">V</a>
</li>
</ol>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#winter-quiet">Winter Quiet</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#dawn">Dawn</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#good-night">Good Night</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#danse-russe">Danse Russe</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#portrait-of-a-woman-in-bed">Portrait of a Woman in Bed</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#virtue">Virtue</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#conquest">Conquest</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#portrait-of-a-young-man-with-a-bad-heart">Portrait of a Young Man with a Bad Heart</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#keller-gegen-dom">Keller Gegen Dom</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#smell">Smell!</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#ballet">Ballet</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#sympathetic-portrait-of-a-child">Sympathetic Portrait of a Child</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-ogre">The Ogre</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#riposte">Riposte</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-old-men">The Old Men</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#pastoral-3">Pastoral</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#spring-strains">Spring Strains</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#trees">Trees</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#a-portrait-in-greys">A Portrait in Greys</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#invitation">Invitation</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#divertimiento">Divertimiento</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#january-morning">January Morning</a>
<ol>
<li>
<a href="#january-morning-1" epub:type="z3998:roman">I</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#january-morning-2" epub:type="z3998:roman">II</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#january-morning-3" epub:type="z3998:roman">III</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#january-morning-4" epub:type="z3998:roman">IV</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#january-morning-5" epub:type="z3998:roman">V</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#january-morning-6" epub:type="z3998:roman">VI</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#january-morning-7" epub:type="z3998:roman">VII</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#january-morning-8" epub:type="z3998:roman">VIII</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#january-morning-9" epub:type="z3998:roman">IX</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#january-morning-10" epub:type="z3998:roman">X</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#january-morning-11" epub:type="z3998:roman">XI</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#january-morning-12" epub:type="z3998:roman">XII</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#january-morning-13" epub:type="z3998:roman">XIII</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#january-morning-14" epub:type="z3998:roman">XIV</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#january-morning-15" epub:type="z3998:roman">XV</a>
</li>
</ol>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#to-a-solitary-disciple">To a Solitary Disciple</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#dedication-for-a-plot-of-ground">Dedication for a Plot of Ground</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#k-mcb">
<abbr class="eoc" epub:type="z3998:personal-name">K. McB.</abbr>
</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#love-song3">Love Song</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-wanderer">The Wanderer</a>
<ol>
<li>
<a href="#the-wanderer-1">Advent</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-wanderer-2">Clarity</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-wanderer-3">Broadway</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-wanderer-4">Paterson—The Strike</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-wanderer-5">Abroad</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-wanderer-6">Soothsay</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-wanderer-7"><abbr>St.</abbr> James’ Grove</a>
</li>
</ol>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-late-singer">The Late Singer</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#march">March</a>
<ol>
<li>
<a href="#march-1" epub:type="z3998:roman">I</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#march-2" epub:type="z3998:roman">II</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#march-3" epub:type="z3998:roman">III</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#march-4" epub:type="z3998:roman">IV</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#march-5" epub:type="z3998:roman">V</a>
</li>
</ol>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#berket-and-the-stars">Berket and the Stars</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#a-celebration">A Celebration</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#april">April</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#a-goodnight">A Goodnight</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#overture-to-a-dance-of-locomotives">Overture to a Dance of Locomotives</a>
<ol>
<li>
<a href="#overture-to-a-dance-of-locomotives-1" epub:type="z3998:roman">I</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#overture-to-a-dance-of-locomotives-2" epub:type="z3998:roman">II</a>
</li>
</ol>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#romance-moderne">Romance Moderne</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-desolate-field">The Desolate Field</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#willow-poem">Willow Poem</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#approach-of-winter">Approach of Winter</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#january">January</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#blizzard">Blizzard</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#to-waken-an-old-lady">To Waken an Old Lady</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#winter-trees">Winter Trees</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#complaint">Complaint</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-cold-night">The Cold Night</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#spring-storm">Spring Storm</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-delicacies">The Delicacies</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#thursday">Thursday</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-dark-day">The Dark Day</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#time-the-hangman">Time the Hangman</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#to-a-friend">To a Friend</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-gentle-man">The Gentle Man</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-soughing-wind">The Soughing Wind</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#spring">Spring</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#play">Play</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#lines">Lines</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-poor">The Poor</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#complete-destruction">Complete Destruction</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#memory-of-april">Memory of April</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#epitaph">Epitaph</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#daisy">Daisy</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#primrose">Primrose</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#queen-ann’s-lace">Queen-Ann’s-Lace</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#great-mullen">Great Mullen</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#waiting">Waiting</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-hunter">The Hunter</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#arrival">Arrival</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#to-a-friend-concerning-several-ladies">To a Friend Concerning Several Ladies</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#youth-and-beauty">Youth and Beauty</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-thinker">The Thinker</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-disputants">The Disputants</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-tulip-bed">The Tulip Bed</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-birds">The Birds</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-nightingales">The Nightingales</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#spouts">Spouts</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#blueflags">Blueflags</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-widows-lament-in-springtime">The Widow’s Lament in Springtime</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#light-hearted-william">Light Hearted William</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#portrait-of-the-author">Portrait of the Author</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-lonely-street">The Lonely Street</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-great-figure">The Great Figure</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#colophon">Colophon</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#uncopyright">Uncopyright</a>
</li>
</ol>
</nav>
<section id="imprint" epub:type="imprint frontmatter">
<header>
<h2 epub:type="title">Imprint</h2>
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epub:type="z3998:publisher-logo se:image.color-depth.black-on-transparent"/>
</header>
<p>This ebook is the product of many hours of hard work by volunteers for <a href="https://standardebooks.org/">Standard Ebooks</a>, and builds on the hard work of other literature lovers made possible by the public domain.</p>
<p>This particular ebook is based on transcriptions from <a href="https://standardebooks.org/ebooks/william-carlos-williams/poetry#transcriptions">Project Gutenberg</a> and on digital scans from <a href="https://standardebooks.org/ebooks/william-carlos-williams/poetry#page-scans">various sources</a>.</p>
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</section>
<article id="peace-on-earth" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Peace on Earth</h2>
<p>
<span>The Archer is wake!</span>
<br/>
<span>The Swan is flying!</span>
<br/>
<span>Gold against blue</span>
<br/>
<span>An Arrow is lying.</span>
<br/>
<span>There is hunting in heaven⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Sleep safe till to-morrow.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The Bears are abroad!</span>
<br/>
<span>The Eagle is screaming!</span>
<br/>
<span>Gold against blue</span>
<br/>
<span>Their eyes are gleaming!</span>
<br/>
<span>Sleep!</span>
<br/>
<span>Sleep safe till to-morrow.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The Sisters lie</span>
<br/>
<span>With their arms intertwining;</span>
<br/>
<span>Gold against blue</span>
<br/>
<span>Their hair is shining!</span>
<br/>
<span>The Serpent writhes!</span>
<br/>
<span>Orion is listening!</span>
<br/>
<span>Gold against blue</span>
<br/>
<span>His sword is glistening!</span>
<br/>
<span>Sleep!</span>
<br/>
<span>There is hunting in heaven⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Sleep safe till to-morrow.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="postlude" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Postlude</h2>
<p>
<span>Now that I have cooled to you</span>
<br/>
<span>Let there be gold of tarnished masonry,</span>
<br/>
<span>Temples soothed by the sun to ruin</span>
<br/>
<span>That sleep utterly.</span>
<br/>
<span>Give me hand for the dances,</span>
<br/>
<span>Ripples at Philae, in and out,</span>
<br/>
<span>And lips, my Lesbian,</span>
<br/>
<span>Wall flowers that once were flame.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Your hair is my Carthage</span>
<br/>
<span>And my arms the bow,</span>
<br/>
<span>And our words arrows</span>
<br/>
<span>To shoot the stars</span>
<br/>
<span>Who from that misty sea</span>
<br/>
<span>Swarm to destroy us.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But you there beside me⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Oh how shall I defy you,</span>
<br/>
<span>Who wound me in the night</span>
<br/>
<span>With breasts shining</span>
<br/>
<span>Like Venus and like Mars?</span>
<br/>
<span>The night that is shouting Jason</span>
<br/>
<span>When the loud eaves rattle</span>
<br/>
<span>As with waves above me</span>
<br/>
<span>Blue at the prow of my desire.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="first-praise" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">First Praise</h2>
<p>
<span>Lady of dusk wood fastnesses,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Thou art my Lady.</span>
<br/>
<span>I have known the crisp splintering leaf-tread with thee on before,</span>
<br/>
<span>White, slender through green saplings;</span>
<br/>
<span>I have lain by thee on the grey forest floor</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Beside thee, my Lady.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Lady of rivers strewn with stones,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Only thou art my Lady.</span>
<br/>
<span>Where thousand the freshets are crowded like peasants to a fair;</span>
<br/>
<span>Clear skinned, wild from seclusion,</span>
<br/>
<span>They jostle white armed down the tent-bordered thoroughfare</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Praising my Lady.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="homage" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Homage</h2>
<p>
<span>Elvira, by love’s grace</span>
<br/>
<span>There goeth before you</span>
<br/>
<span>A clear radiance</span>
<br/>
<span>Which maketh all vain souls</span>
<br/>
<span>Candles when noon is.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The loud clangour of pretenders</span>
<br/>
<span>Melteth before you</span>
<br/>
<span>Like the roll of carts passing,</span>
<br/>
<span>But you come silently</span>
<br/>
<span>And homage is given.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Now the little by-path</span>
<br/>
<span>Which leadeth to love</span>
<br/>
<span>Is again joyful with its many;</span>
<br/>
<span>And the great highway</span>
<br/>
<span>From love</span>
<br/>
<span>Is without passers.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="the-fools-song" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">The Fool’s Song</h2>
<p>
<span>I tried to put a bird in a cage.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">O fool that I am!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For the bird was Truth.</span>
<br/>
<span>Sing merrily, Truth: I tried to put</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Truth in a cage!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And when I had the bird in the cage,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">O fool that I am!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Why, it broke my pretty cage.</span>
<br/>
<span>Sing merrily, Truth; I tried to put</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Truth in a cage!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And when the bird was flown from the cage,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">O fool that I am!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Why, I had nor bird nor cage.</span>
<br/>
<span>Sing merrily, Truth: I tried to put</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Truth in a cage!</span>
<br/>
<span>Heigh-ho! Truth in a cage.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="from-the-birth-of-venus-song" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">From “The Birth of Venus,” Song</h2>
<p>
<span class="i2">Come with us and play!</span>
<br/>
<span>See, we have breasts as women!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">From your tents by the sea</span>
<br/>
<span>Come play with us: it is forbidden!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i2">Come with us and play!</span>
<br/>
<span>Lo, bare, straight legs in the water!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">By our boats we stay,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Then swimming away</span>
<br/>
<span>Come to us: it is forbidden!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i2">Come with us and play!</span>
<br/>
<span>See, we are tall as women!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Our eyes are keen:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Our hair is bright:</span>
<br/>
<span>Our voices speak outright:</span>
<br/>
<span>We revel in the sea’s green!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Come play:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">It is forbidden!</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="immortal" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Immortal</h2>
<p>
<span>Yes, there is one thing braver than all flowers;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Richer than clear gems; wider than the sky;</span>
<br/>
<span>Immortal and unchangeable; whose powers</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Transcend reason, love and sanity!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And thou, beloved, art that godly thing!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Marvellous and terrible; in glance</span>
<br/>
<span>An injured Juno roused against Heaven’s King!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">And thy name, lovely One, is Ignorance.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="mezzo-forte" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Mezzo Forte</h2>
<p>
<span>Take that, damn you; and that!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">And here’s a rose</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">To make it right again!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">God knows</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">I’m sorry, Grace; but then,</span>
<br/>
<span>It’s not my fault if you will be a cat.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="an-after-song" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">An After Song</h2>
<p>
<span class="i2">So art thou broken in upon me, Apollo,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Through a splendour of purple garments⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Held by the yellow-haired Clymène</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To clothe the white of thy shoulders⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Bare from the day’s leaping of horses.</span>
<br/>
<span>This is strange to me, here in the modern twilight.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="crude-lament" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Crude Lament</h2>
<p>
<span class="i1">Mother of flames,</span>
<br/>
<span>The men that went ahunting</span>
<br/>
<span>Are asleep in the snow drifts.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">You have kept the fire burning!</span>
<br/>
<span>Crooked fingers that pull</span>
<br/>
<span>Fuel from among the wet leaves,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Mother of flames</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">You have kept the fire burning!</span>
<br/>
<span>The young wives have fallen asleep</span>
<br/>
<span>With wet hair, weeping,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Mother of flames!</span>
<br/>
<span>The young men raised the heavy spears</span>
<br/>
<span>And are gone prowling in the darkness.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O mother of flames,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">You who have kept the fire burning!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Lo, I am helpless!</span>
<br/>
<span>Would God they had taken me with them!</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="the-ordeal" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">The Ordeal</h2>
<p>
<span class="i2">O Crimson salamander,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Because of love’s whim</span>
<br/>
<span class="i10">sacred!</span>
<br/>
<span>Swim</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">the winding flame</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Predestined to disman him</span>
<br/>
<span>And bring our fellow home to us again.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i2">Swim in with watery fang,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Gnaw out and drown</span>
<br/>
<span>The fire roots that circle him</span>
<br/>
<span>Until the Hell-flower dies down</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">And he comes home again.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i2">Aye, bring him home,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">O crimson salamander,</span>
<br/>
<span>That I may see he is unchanged with burning⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Then have your will with him,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">O crimson salamander.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="the-death-of-franco-of-cologne-his-prophecy-of-beethoven" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">The Death of Franco of Cologne: His Prophecy of Beethoven</h2>
<p>
<span>It is useless, good woman, useless: the spark fails me.</span>
<br/>
<span>God! yet when the might of it all assails me</span>
<br/>
<span>It seems impossible that I cannot do it.</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet I cannot. They were right, and they all knew it</span>
<br/>
<span>Years ago, but I⁠—never! I have persisted</span>
<br/>
<span>Blindly (they say) and now I am old. I have resisted</span>
<br/>
<span>Everything, but now, now the strife’s ended.</span>
<br/>
<span>The fire’s out; the old cloak has been mended</span>
<br/>
<span>For the last time, the soul peers through its tatters.</span>
<br/>
<span>Put a light by and leave me; nothing more matters</span>
<br/>
<span>Now; I am done; I am at last well broken!</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet, by God, I’ll still leave them a token</span>
<br/>
<span>That they’ll swear it was no dead man writ it;</span>
<br/>
<span>A morsel that they’ll mark well the day they bit it,</span>
<br/>
<span>That there’ll be sand between their gross teeth to crunch yet</span>
<br/>
<span>When goodman Gabriel blows his concluding trumpet.</span>
<br/>
<span>Leave me!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">And now, little black eyes, come you out here!</span>
<br/>
<span>Ah, you’ve given me a lively, lasting bout, year</span>
<br/>
<span>After year to win you round me darlings!</span>
<br/>
<span>Precious children, little gambollers! “farlings”</span>
<br/>
<span>They might have called you once, “nearlings”</span>
<br/>
<span>I call you now, I, first of all the yearlings,</span>
<br/>
<span>Upon this plain, for I it was that tore you</span>
<br/>
<span>Out of chaos! It was I bore you!</span>
<br/>
<span>Ah, you little children that go playing</span>
<br/>
<span>Over the five-barred gate, and will still be straying</span>
<br/>
<span>Spite of all that I have ever told you</span>
<br/>
<span>Of counterpoint and cadence which does not hold you⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>No more than chains will for this or that strange reason,</span>
<br/>
<span>But you’re always at some new loving treason</span>
<br/>
<span>To be away from me, laughing, mocking,</span>
<br/>
<span>Witlessly, perhaps, but for all that forever knocking</span>
<br/>
<span>At this stanchion door of your poor father’s heart till⁠—oh, well</span>
<br/>
<span>At least you’ve shown that you can grow well</span>
<br/>
<span>However much you evade me faster, faster.</span>
<br/>
<span>But, black eyes, some day you’ll get a master,</span>
<br/>
<span>For he will come! He shall, he must come!</span>
<br/>
<span>And when he finishes and the burning dust from</span>
<br/>
<span>His wheels settles⁠—what shall men see then?</span>
<br/>
<span>You, you, you, my own lovely children!</span>
<br/>
<span>Aye, all of you, thus with hands together</span>
<br/>
<span>Playing on the hill or there in a tether,</span>
<br/>
<span>Or running free, but all mine! Aye, my very namesakes</span>
<br/>
<span>Shall be his proper fame’s stakes.</span>
<br/>
<span>And he shall lead you!</span>
<br/>
<span>And he shall meed you!</span>
<br/>
<span>And he shall build you gold palaces!</span>
<br/>
<span>And he shall wine you from clear chalices!</span>
<br/>
<span>For I have seen it! I have seen it</span>
<br/>
<span>Written where the world-clouds screen it</span>
<br/>
<span>From other eyes</span>
<br/>
<span>Over the bronze gates of paradise!</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="portent" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Portent</h2>
<p>
<span>Red cradle of the night,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In you</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">The dusky child</span>
<br/>
<span>Sleeps fast till his might</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Shall be piled</span>
<br/>
<span>Sinew on sinew.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Red cradle of the night,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The dusky child</span>
<br/>
<span>Sleeping sits upright.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Lo how</span>
<br/>
<span class="i5">The winds blow now!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">He pillows back;</span>
<br/>
<span>The winds are again mild.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>When he stretches his arms out,</span>
<br/>
<span>Red cradle of the night,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The alarms shout</span>
<br/>
<span>From bare tree to tree,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Wild</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">In afright!</span>
<br/>
<span>Mighty shall he be,</span>
<br/>
<span>Red cradle of the night,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The dusky child!!</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="con-brio" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Con Brio</h2>
<p>
<span>Miserly, is the best description of that poor fool</span>
<br/>
<span>Who holds Lancelot to have been a morose fellow,</span>
<br/>
<span>Dolefully brooding over the events which had naturally to follow</span>
<br/>
<span>The high time of his deed with Guinevere.</span>
<br/>
<span>He has a sick historical sight, if I judge rightly,</span>
<br/>
<span>To believe any such thing as that ever occurred.</span>
<br/>
<span>But, by the god of blood, what else is it that has deterred</span>
<br/>
<span>Us all from an out and out defiance of fear</span>
<br/>
<span>But this same perdamnable miserliness,</span>
<br/>
<span>Which cries about our necks how we shall have less and less</span>
<br/>
<span>Than we have now if we spend too wantonly?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Bah, this sort of slither is below contempt!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>In the same vein we should have apple trees exempt</span>
<br/>
<span>From bearing anything but pink blossoms all the year,</span>
<br/>
<span>Fixed permanent lest their bellies wax unseemly, and the dear</span>
<br/>
<span>Innocent days of them be wasted quite.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>How can we have less? Have we not the deed?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Lancelot thought little, spent his gold and rode to fight</span>
<br/>
<span>Mounted, if God was willing, on a good steed.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="ad-infinitum" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 lang="la" epub:type="title" xml:lang="la">Ad Infinitum</h2>
<p>
<span class="i1">Still I bring flowers</span>
<br/>
<span>Although you fling them at my feet</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Until none stays</span>
<br/>
<span>That is not struck across with wounds:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Flowers and flowers</span>
<br/>
<span>That you may break them utterly</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">As you have always done.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">Sure happily</span>
<br/>
<span>I still bring flowers, flowers,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Knowing how all</span>
<br/>
<span>Are crumpled in your praise</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And may not live</span>
<br/>
<span>To speak a lesser thing.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="el-romancero" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Translations from the Spanish, “El Romancero”</h2>
<section id="el-romancero-1" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">I</h3>
<p>
<span class="i2">Although you do your best to regard me</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">With an air seeming offended,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Never can you deny, when all’s ended,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Calm eyes, that you <em>did</em> regard me.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>However much you’re at pains to</span>
<br/>
<span>Offend me, by which I may suffer,</span>
<br/>
<span>What offence is there can make up for</span>
<br/>
<span>The great good he finds who attains you?</span>
<br/>
<span>For though with mortal fear you reward me,</span>
<br/>
<span>Until my sorry sense is plenished,</span>
<br/>
<span>Never can you deny, when all’s ended,</span>
<br/>
<span>Calm eyes, that you did regard me.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Thinking thus to dismay me</span>
<br/>
<span>You beheld me with disdain,</span>
<br/>
<span>But instead of destroying the gain,</span>
<br/>
<span>In fact with doubled good you paid me.</span>
<br/>
<span>For though you show them how hardly</span>
<br/>
<span>They keep off from leniency bended,</span>
<br/>
<span>Never can you deny, when all’s ended,</span>
<br/>
<span>Calm eyes, that you did regard me.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="el-romancero-2" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">II</h3>
<p>
<span>Ah, little green eyes,</span>
<br/>
<span>Ah, little eyes of mine,</span>
<br/>
<span>Ah, Heaven be willing</span>
<br/>
<span>That you think of me somewise.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The day of departure</span>
<br/>
<span>You came full of grieving</span>
<br/>
<span>And to see I was leaving</span>
<br/>
<span>The tears ’gan to start sure</span>
<br/>
<span>With the heavy torture</span>
<br/>
<span>Of sorrows unbrightened</span>
<br/>
<span>When you lie down at night and</span>
<br/>
<span>When there to you dreams rise,</span>
<br/>
<span>Ah, Heaven be willing</span>
<br/>
<span>That you think of me somewise.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Deep is my assurance</span>
<br/>
<span>Of you, little green eyes,</span>
<br/>
<span>That in truth you realise</span>
<br/>
<span>Something of my durance</span>
<br/>
<span>Eyes of hope’s fair assurance</span>
<br/>
<span>And good premonition</span>
<br/>
<span>By virtue of whose condition</span>
<br/>
<span>All green colours I prize.</span>
<br/>
<span>Ah, Heaven be willing</span>
<br/>
<span>That you think of me somewise.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Would God I might know you</span>
<br/>
<span>To which quarter bended</span>
<br/>
<span>And why comprehended</span>
<br/>
<span>When sighings overflow you,</span>
<br/>
<span>And if you must go through</span>
<br/>
<span>Some certain despair,</span>
<br/>
<span>For that you lose his care</span>
<br/>
<span>Who was faithful always.</span>
<br/>
<span>Ah, Heaven be willing</span>
<br/>
<span>That you think of me these days.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Through never a moment</span>
<br/>
<span>I’ve known how to live lest</span>
<br/>
<span>All my thoughts but as one pressed</span>
<br/>
<span>You-ward for their concernment.</span>
<br/>
<span>May God send chastisement</span>
<br/>
<span>If in this I belie me</span>
<br/>
<span>And if it truth be</span>
<br/>
<span>My own little green eyes.</span>
<br/>
<span>Ah, Heaven be willing</span>
<br/>
<span>That you think of me somewise.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="el-romancero-3" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">III</h3>
<p>
<span>Poplars of the meadow,</span>
<br/>
<span>Fountains of Madrid,</span>
<br/>
<span>Now I am absent from you</span>
<br/>
<span>All are slandering me.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Each of you is telling</span>
<br/>
<span>How evil my chance is</span>
<br/>
<span>The wind among the branches,</span>
<br/>
<span>The fountains in their welling</span>
<br/>
<span>To every one telling</span>
<br/>
<span>You were happy to see.</span>
<br/>
<span>Now I am absent from you</span>
<br/>
<span>All are slandering me.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>With good right I may wonder</span>
<br/>
<span>For that at my last leaving</span>
<br/>
<span>The plants with sighs heaving</span>
<br/>
<span>And the waters in tears were.</span>
<br/>
<span>That you played double, never</span>
<br/>
<span>Thought I this could be,</span>
<br/>
<span>Now I am absent from you</span>
<br/>
<span>All are slandering me.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>There full in your presence</span>
<br/>
<span>Music you sought to waken,</span>
<br/>
<span>Later I’m forsaken</span>
<br/>
<span>Since you are ware of my absence.</span>
<br/>
<span>God, wilt Thou give me patience</span>
<br/>
<span>Here while suffer I ye,</span>
<br/>
<span>Now I am absent from you</span>
<br/>
<span>All are slandering me.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="el-romancero-4" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">IV</h3>
<p>
<span>The day draweth nearer,</span>
<br/>
<span>And morrow ends our meeting,</span>
<br/>
<span>Ere they take thee sleeping</span>
<br/>
<span>Be up⁠—away, my treasure!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Soft, leave her breasts all unheeded,</span>
<br/>
<span>Far hence though the master still remaineth!</span>
<br/>
<span>For soon uptil our earth regaineth</span>
<br/>
<span>The sun all embraces dividing.</span>
<br/>
<span>N’er grew pleasure all unimpeded,</span>
<br/>
<span>N’er was delight lest passion won,</span>
<br/>
<span>And to the wise man the fit occasion</span>
<br/>
<span>Has not yet refused a full measure:</span>
<br/>
<span>Be up⁠—away, my treasure!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>If that my love thy bosom inflameth</span>
<br/>
<span>With honest purpose and just intention,</span>
<br/>
<span>To free me from my soul’s contention</span>
<br/>
<span>Give over joys the day shameth;</span>
<br/>
<span>Who thee lameth he also me lameth,</span>
<br/>
<span>And my good grace builds all in thy good grace;</span>
<br/>
<span>Be up⁠—away! Fear leaveth place,</span>
<br/>
<span>That thou art here, no more unto pleasure,</span>
<br/>
<span>Be up⁠—away, my treasure!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Although thou with a sleep art wresting,</span>
<br/>
<span>’Tis rightful thou bringst it close,</span>
<br/>
<span>That of the favour one meeting shows</span>
<br/>
<span>An hundred may hence be attesting.</span>
<br/>
<span>’Tis fitting too thou shouldst be mindful</span>
<br/>
<span>That the ease which we lose now, in kind, full</span>
<br/>
<span>Many a promise holds for our leisure;</span>
<br/>
<span>Ere they take thee sleeping;</span>
<br/>
<span>Be up⁠—away, my treasure!</span>
</p>
</section>
</article>
<article id="hic-jacet" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Hic Jacet</h2>
<p>
<span>The coroner’s merry little children</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Have such twinkling brown eyes.</span>
<br/>
<span>Their father is not of gay men</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And their mother jocular in no wise,</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet the coroner’s merry little children</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">Laugh so easily.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>They laugh because they prosper.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Fruit for them is upon all branches.</span>
<br/>
<span>Lo! how they jibe at loss, for</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Kind heaven fills their little paunches!</span>
<br/>
<span>It’s the coroner’s merry, merry children</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">Who laugh so easily.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="contemporania" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Contemporania</h2>
<p>
<span>The corner of a great rain</span>
<br/>
<span>Steamy with the country</span>
<br/>
<span>Has fallen upon my garden.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>I go back and forth now</span>
<br/>
<span>And the little leaves follow me</span>
<br/>
<span>Talking of the great rain,</span>
<br/>
<span>Of branches broken,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the farmer’s curses!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But I go back and forth</span>
<br/>
<span>In this corner of a garden</span>
<br/>
<span>And the green shoots follow me</span>
<br/>
<span>Praising the great rain.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>We are not curst together,</span>
<br/>
<span>The leaves and I,</span>
<br/>
<span>Framing devices, flower devices</span>
<br/>
<span>And other ways of peopling</span>
<br/>
<span>The barren country.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Truly it was a very great rain</span>
<br/>
<span>That makes the little leaves follow me.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="to-wish-myself-courage" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">To Wish Myself Courage</h2>
<p>
<span>On the day when youth is no more upon me</span>
<br/>
<span>I will write of the leaves and the moon in a tree top!</span>
<br/>
<span>I will sing then the song, long in the making⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>When the stress of youth is put away from me.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>How can I ever be written out as men say?</span>
<br/>
<span>Surely it is merely an interference with the long song⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>This that I am now doing.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But when the spring of it is worn like the old moon</span>
<br/>
<span>And the eaten leaves are lace upon the cold earth⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Then I will rise up in my great desire⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Long at the birth⁠—and sing me the youth-song!</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="sub-terra" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Sub Terra</h2>
<p>
<span>Where shall I find you,</span>
<br/>
<span>you my grotesque fellows</span>
<br/>
<span>that I seek everywhere</span>
<br/>
<span>to make up my band?</span>
<br/>
<span>None, not one</span>
<br/>
<span>with the earthy tastes I require;</span>
<br/>
<span>the burrowing pride that rises</span>
<br/>
<span>subtly as on a bush in May.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Where are you this day,</span>
<br/>
<span>you my seven year locusts</span>
<br/>
<span>with cased wings?</span>
<br/>
<span>Ah my beauties how I long⁠—!</span>
<br/>
<span>That harvest</span>
<br/>
<span>that shall be your advent⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>thrusting up through the grass,</span>
<br/>
<span>up under the weeds</span>
<br/>
<span>answering me,</span>
<br/>
<span><em>that</em> shall be satisfying!</span>
<br/>
<span>The light shall leap and snap</span>
<br/>
<span>that day as with a million lashes!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Oh, I have you; yes</span>
<br/>
<span>you are about me in a sense:</span>
<br/>
<span>playing under the blue pools</span>
<br/>
<span>that are my windows⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>but they shut you out still,</span>
<br/>
<span>there in the half light.</span>
<br/>
<span>For the simple truth is</span>
<br/>
<span>that though I see you clear enough</span>
<br/>
<span>you are not there!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>It is not that⁠—it is you,</span>
<br/>
<span>you I want!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>—God, if I could fathom</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">the guts of shadows!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>You to come with me</span>
<br/>
<span>poking into negro houses</span>
<br/>
<span>with their gloom and smell!</span>
<br/>
<span>In among children</span>
<br/>
<span>leaping around a dead dog!</span>
<br/>
<span>Mimicking</span>
<br/>
<span>onto the lawns of the rich!</span>
<br/>
<span>You!</span>
<br/>
<span>to go with me a-tip-toe,</span>
<br/>
<span>head down under heaven,</span>
<br/>
<span>nostrils lipping the wind!</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="pastoral-1" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Pastoral</h2>
<p>
<span>When I was younger</span>
<br/>
<span>it was plain to me</span>
<br/>
<span>I must make something of myself.</span>
<br/>
<span>Older now</span>
<br/>
<span>I walk back streets</span>
<br/>
<span>admiring the houses</span>
<br/>
<span>of the very poor:</span>
<br/>
<span>roof out of line with sides</span>
<br/>
<span>the yards cluttered</span>
<br/>
<span>with old chicken wire, ashes,</span>
<br/>
<span>furniture gone wrong;</span>
<br/>
<span>the fences and outhouses</span>
<br/>
<span>built of barrel-staves</span>
<br/>
<span>and parts of boxes, all,</span>
<br/>
<span>if I am fortunate,</span>
<br/>
<span>smeared a bluish green</span>
<br/>
<span>that properly weathered</span>
<br/>
<span>pleases me best</span>
<br/>
<span>of all colors.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i5">No one</span>
<br/>
<span>will believe this</span>
<br/>
<span>of vast import to the nation.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="chickory-and-daisies" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Chickory and Daisies</h2>
<section id="chickory-and-daisies-1" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">I</h3>
<p>
<span>Lift your flowers</span>
<br/>
<span>on bitter stems</span>
<br/>
<span>chickory!</span>
<br/>
<span>Lift them up</span>
<br/>
<span>out of the scorched ground!</span>
<br/>
<span>Bear no foliage</span>
<br/>
<span>but give yourself</span>
<br/>
<span>wholly to that!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Strain under them</span>
<br/>
<span>you bitter stems</span>
<br/>
<span>that no beast eats⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>and scorn greyness!</span>
<br/>
<span>Into the heat with them:</span>
<br/>
<span>cool!</span>
<br/>
<span>luxuriant! sky-blue!</span>
<br/>
<span>The earth cracks and</span>
<br/>
<span>is shriveled up;</span>
<br/>
<span>the wind moans piteously;</span>
<br/>
<span>the sky goes out</span>
<br/>
<span>if you should fail.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="chickory-and-daisies-2" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">II</h3>
<p>
<span>I saw a child with daisies</span>
<br/>
<span>for weaving into the hair</span>
<br/>
<span>tear the stems</span>
<br/>
<span>with her teeth!</span>
</p>
</section>
</article>
<article id="metric-figure" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Metric Figure</h2>
<p>
<span>There is a bird in the poplars!</span>
<br/>
<span>It is the sun!</span>
<br/>
<span>The leaves are little yellow fish</span>
<br/>
<span>swimming in the river.</span>
<br/>
<span>The bird skims above them,</span>
<br/>
<span>day is on his wings.</span>
<br/>
<span>Phoebus!</span>
<br/>
<span>It is he that is making</span>
<br/>
<span>the great gleam among the poplars!</span>
<br/>
<span>It is his singing</span>
<br/>
<span>outshines the noise</span>
<br/>
<span>of leaves clashing in the wind.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="woman-walking" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Woman Walking</h2>
<p>
<span>An oblique cloud of purple smoke</span>
<br/>
<span>across a milky silhouette</span>
<br/>
<span>of house sides and tiny trees⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>a little village⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>that ends in a saw edge</span>
<br/>
<span>of mist-covered trees</span>
<br/>
<span>on a sheet of grey sky.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>To the right, jutting in,</span>
<br/>
<span>a dark crimson corner of roof.</span>
<br/>
<span>To the left, half a tree:</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i2">—what a blessing it is</span>
<br/>
<span>to see you in the street again,</span>
<br/>
<span>powerful woman,</span>
<br/>
<span>coming with swinging haunches,</span>
<br/>
<span>breasts straight forward,</span>
<br/>
<span>supple shoulders, full arms</span>
<br/>
<span>and strong, soft hands (I’ve felt them)</span>
<br/>
<span>carrying the heavy basket.</span>
<br/>
<span>I might well see you oftener!</span>
<br/>
<span>And for a different reason</span>
<br/>
<span>than the fresh eggs</span>
<br/>
<span>you bring us so regularly.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Yes, you, young as I,</span>
<br/>
<span>with boney brows,</span>
<br/>
<span>kind grey eyes and a kind mouth;</span>
<br/>
<span>you walking out toward me</span>
<br/>
<span>from that dead hillside!</span>
<br/>
<span>I might well see you oftener.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="gulls" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Gulls</h2>
<p>
<span>My townspeople, beyond in the great world,</span>
<br/>
<span>are many with whom it were far more</span>
<br/>
<span>profitable for me to live than here with you.</span>
<br/>
<span>These whirr about me calling, calling!</span>
<br/>
<span>and for my own part I answer them, loud as I can,</span>
<br/>
<span>but they, being free, pass!</span>
<br/>
<span>I remain! Therefore, listen!</span>
<br/>
<span>For you will not soon have another singer.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>First I say this: you have seen</span>
<br/>
<span>the strange birds, have you not, that sometimes</span>
<br/>
<span>rest upon our river in winter?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Let them cause you to think well then of the storms</span>
<br/>
<span>that drive many to shelter. These things</span>
<br/>
<span>do not happen without reason.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And the next thing I say is this:</span>
<br/>
<span>I saw an eagle once circling against the clouds</span>
<br/>
<span>over one of our principal churches⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Easter, it was⁠—a beautiful day!⁠—:</span>
<br/>
<span>three gulls came from above the river</span>
<br/>
<span>and crossed slowly seaward!</span>
<br/>
<span>Oh, I know you have your own hymns, I have heard them⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>and because I knew they invoked some great protector</span>
<br/>
<span>I could not be angry with you, no matter</span>
<br/>
<span>how much they outraged true music⁠—</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>You see, it is not necessary for us to leap at each other,</span>
<br/>
<span>and, as I told you, in the end</span>
<br/>
<span>the gulls moved seaward very quietly.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="appeal" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Appeal</h2>
<p>
<span>You who are so mighty,</span>
<br/>
<span>crimson salamander,</span>
<br/>
<span>hear me once more.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>I lay among the half burned sticks</span>
<br/>
<span>at the edge of the fire.</span>
<br/>
<span>The fiend was creeping in.</span>
<br/>
<span>I felt the cold tips of fingers⁠—</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>O crimson salamander!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Give me one little flame,</span>
<br/>
<span>one!</span>
<br/>
<span>that I may bind it</span>
<br/>
<span>protectingly about the wrist</span>
<br/>
<span>of him that flung me here,</span>
<br/>
<span>here upon the very center!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>This is my song.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="in-harbor" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">In Harbor</h2>
<p>
<span>Surely there, among the great docks, is peace, my mind;</span>
<br/>
<span>there with the ships moored in the river.</span>
<br/>
<span>Go out, timid child,</span>
<br/>
<span>and snuggle in among the great ships talking so quietly.</span>
<br/>
<span>Maybe you will even fall asleep near them and be</span>
<br/>
<span>lifted into one of their laps, and in the morning⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>There is always the morning in which to remember it all!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Of what are they gossiping? God knows.</span>
<br/>
<span>And God knows it matters little for we cannot understand them.</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet it is certainly of the sea, of that there can be no question.</span>
<br/>
<span>It is a quiet sound. Rest! That’s all I care for now.</span>
<br/>
<span>The smell of them will put us to sleep presently.</span>
<br/>
<span>Smell! It is the sea water mingling here into the river⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>at least so it seems⁠—perhaps it is something else⁠—but what matter?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The sea water! It is quiet and smooth here!</span>
<br/>
<span>How slowly they move, little by little trying</span>
<br/>
<span>the hawsers that drop and groan with their agony.</span>
<br/>
<span>Yes, it is certainly of the high sea they are talking.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="winter-sunset" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Winter Sunset</h2>
<p>
<span>Then I raised my head</span>
<br/>
<span>and stared out over</span>
<br/>
<span>the blue February waste</span>
<br/>
<span>to the blue bank of hill</span>
<br/>
<span>with stars on it</span>
<br/>
<span>in strings and festoons⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>but above that:</span>
<br/>
<span>one opaque</span>
<br/>
<span>stone of a cloud</span>
<br/>
<span>just on the hill</span>
<br/>
<span>left and right</span>
<br/>
<span>as far as I could see;</span>
<br/>
<span>and above that</span>
<br/>
<span>a red streak, then</span>
<br/>
<span>icy blue sky!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>It was a fearful thing</span>
<br/>
<span>to come into a man’s heart</span>
<br/>
<span>at that time: that stone</span>
<br/>
<span>over the little blinking stars</span>
<br/>
<span>they’d set there.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="apology" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Apology</h2>
<p>
<span>Why do I write today?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The beauty of</span>
<br/>
<span>the terrible faces</span>
<br/>
<span>of our nonentities</span>
<br/>
<span>stirs me to it:</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>colored women</span>
<br/>
<span>day workers⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>old and experienced⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>returning home at dusk</span>
<br/>
<span>in cast off clothing</span>
<br/>
<span>faces like</span>
<br/>
<span>old Florentine oak.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Also</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>the set pieces</span>
<br/>
<span>of your faces stir me⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>leading citizens⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>but not</span>
<br/>
<span>in the same way.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="pastoral-2" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Pastoral</h2>
<p>
<span>The little sparrows</span>
<br/>
<span>hop ingenuously</span>
<br/>
<span>about the pavement</span>
<br/>
<span>quarreling</span>
<br/>
<span>with sharp voices</span>
<br/>
<span>over those things</span>
<br/>
<span>that interest them.</span>
<br/>
<span>But we who are wiser</span>
<br/>
<span>shut ourselves in</span>
<br/>
<span>on either hand</span>
<br/>
<span>and no one knows</span>
<br/>
<span>whether we think good</span>
<br/>
<span>or evil.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i5">Meanwhile,</span>
<br/>
<span>the old man who goes about</span>
<br/>
<span>gathering dog-lime</span>
<br/>
<span>walks in the gutter</span>
<br/>
<span>without looking up</span>
<br/>
<span>and his tread</span>
<br/>
<span>is more majestic than</span>
<br/>
<span>that of the Episcopal minister</span>
<br/>
<span>approaching the pulpit</span>
<br/>
<span>of a Sunday.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i5">These things</span>
<br/>
<span>astonish me beyond words.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="love-song-1" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Love Song</h2>
<p>
<span>Daisies are broken</span>
<br/>
<span>petals are news of the day</span>
<br/>
<span>stems lift to the grass tops</span>
<br/>
<span>they catch on shoes</span>
<br/>
<span>part in the middle</span>
<br/>
<span>leave root and leaves secure.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Black branches</span>
<br/>
<span>carry square leaves</span>
<br/>
<span>to the wood’s top.</span>
<br/>
<span>They hold firm</span>
<br/>
<span>break with a roar</span>
<br/>
<span>show the white!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Your moods are slow</span>
<br/>
<span>the shedding of leaves</span>
<br/>
<span>and sure</span>
<br/>
<span>the return in May!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>We walked</span>
<br/>
<span>in your father’s grove</span>
<br/>
<span>and saw the great oaks</span>
<br/>
<span>lying with roots</span>
<br/>
<span>ripped from the ground.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="m-b" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">
<abbr class="eoc" epub:type="z3998:personal-name">M. B.</abbr>
</h2>
<p>
<span>Winter has spent this snow</span>
<br/>
<span>out of envy, but spring is here!</span>
<br/>
<span>He sits at the breakfast table</span>
<br/>
<span>in his yellow hair</span>
<br/>
<span>and disdains even the sun</span>
<br/>
<span>walking outside</span>
<br/>
<span>in spangled slippers:</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>He looks out: there is</span>
<br/>
<span>a glare of lights</span>
<br/>
<span>before a theater,⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>a sparkling lady</span>
<br/>
<span>passes quickly to</span>
<br/>
<span>the seclusion of</span>
<br/>
<span>her carriage.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i5">Presently</span>
<br/>
<span>under the dirty, wavy heaven</span>
<br/>
<span>of a borrowed room he will make</span>
<br/>
<span>re-inhaled tobacco smoke</span>
<br/>
<span>his clouds and try them</span>
<br/>
<span>against the sky’s limits!</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="tract" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Tract</h2>
<p>
<span>I will teach you my townspeople</span>
<br/>
<span>how to perform a funeral⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>for you have it over a troop</span>
<br/>
<span>of artists⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>unless one should scour the world⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>you have the ground sense necessary.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>See! the hearse leads.</span>
<br/>
<span>I begin with a design for a hearse.</span>
<br/>
<span>For Christ’s sake not black⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>nor white either⁠—and not polished!</span>
<br/>
<span>Let it be weathered⁠—like a farm wagon⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>with gilt wheels (this could be</span>
<br/>
<span>applied fresh at small expense)</span>
<br/>
<span>or no wheels at all:</span>
<br/>
<span>a rough dray to drag over the ground.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Knock the glass out!</span>
<br/>
<span>My God⁠—glass, my townspeople!</span>
<br/>
<span>For what purpose? Is it for the dead</span>
<br/>
<span>to look out or for us to see</span>
<br/>
<span>how well he is housed or to see</span>
<br/>
<span>the flowers or the lack of them⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>or what?</span>
<br/>
<span>To keep the rain and snow from him?</span>
<br/>
<span>He will have a heavier rain soon:</span>
<br/>
<span>pebbles and dirt and what not.</span>
<br/>
<span>Let there be no glass⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>and no upholstery phew!</span>
<br/>
<span>and no little brass rollers</span>
<br/>
<span>and small easy wheels on the bottom⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>my townspeople what are you thinking of?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>A rough plain hearse then</span>
<br/>
<span>with gilt wheels and no top at all.</span>
<br/>
<span>On this the coffin lies</span>
<br/>
<span>by its own weight.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i7">No wreathes please⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>especially no hot house flowers.</span>
<br/>
<span>Some common memento is better,</span>
<br/>
<span>something he prized and is known by:</span>
<br/>
<span>his old clothes⁠—a few books perhaps⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>God knows what! You realize</span>
<br/>
<span>how we are about these things</span>
<br/>
<span>my townspeople⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>something will be found⁠—anything</span>
<br/>
<span>even flowers if he had come to that.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>So much for the hearse.</span>
<br/>
<span>For heaven’s sake though see to the driver!</span>
<br/>
<span>Take off the silk hat! In fact</span>
<br/>
<span>that’s no place at all for him⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>up there unceremoniously</span>
<br/>
<span>dragging our friend out to his own dignity!</span>
<br/>
<span>Bring him down⁠—bring him down!</span>
<br/>
<span>Low and inconspicuous! I’d not have him ride</span>
<br/>
<span>on the wagon at all⁠—damn him⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>the undertaker’s understrapper!</span>
<br/>
<span>Let him hold the reins</span>
<br/>
<span>and walk at the side</span>
<br/>
<span>and inconspicuously too!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Then briefly as to yourselves:</span>
<br/>
<span>Walk behind⁠—as they do in France,</span>
<br/>
<span>seventh class, or if you ride</span>
<br/>
<span>Hell take curtains! Go with some show</span>
<br/>
<span>of inconvenience; sit openly⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>to the weather as to grief.</span>
<br/>
<span>Or do you think you can shut grief in?</span>
<br/>
<span>What⁠—from us? We who have perhaps</span>
<br/>
<span>nothing to lose? Share with us</span>
<br/>
<span>share with us⁠—it will be money</span>
<br/>
<span>in your pockets.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">Go now</span>
<br/>
<span>I think you are ready.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="promenade" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Promenade</h2>
<section id="promenade-1" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">I</h3>
<p>
<span>Well, mind, here we have</span>
<br/>
<span>our little son beside us:</span>
<br/>
<span>a little diversion before breakfast!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Come, we’ll walk down the road</span>
<br/>
<span>till the bacon will be frying.</span>
<br/>
<span>We might better be idle?</span>
<br/>
<span>A poem might come of it?</span>
<br/>
<span>Oh, be useful. Save annoyance</span>
<br/>
<span>to Flossie and besides⁠—the wind!</span>
<br/>
<span>It’s cold. It blows our</span>
<br/>
<span>old pants out! It makes us shiver!</span>
<br/>
<span>See the heavy trees</span>
<br/>
<span>shifting their weight before it.</span>
<br/>
<span>Let us be trees, an old house,</span>
<br/>
<span>a hill with grass on it!</span>
<br/>
<span>The baby’s arms are blue.</span>
<br/>
<span>Come, move! Be quieted!</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="promenade-2" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">II</h3>
<p>
<span>So. We’ll sit here now</span>
<br/>
<span>and throw pebbles into</span>
<br/>
<span>this water-trickle.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i5">Splash the water up!</span>
<br/>
<span>(Splash it up, Sonny!) Laugh!</span>
<br/>
<span>Hit it there deep under the grass.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>See it splash! Ah, mind,</span>
<br/>
<span>see it splash! It is alive!</span>
<br/>
<span>Throw pieces of broken leaves</span>
<br/>
<span>into it. They’ll pass through.</span>
<br/>
<span>No! Yes⁠—just!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Away now for the cows! But⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>It’s cold!</span>
<br/>
<span>It’s getting dark.</span>
<br/>
<span>It’s going to rain.</span>
<br/>
<span>No further!</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="promenade-3" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">III</h3>
<p>
<span>Oh then, a wreath! Let’s</span>
<br/>
<span>refresh something they</span>
<br/>
<span>used to write well of.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Two fern plumes. Strip them</span>
<br/>
<span>to the mid-rib along one side.</span>
<br/>
<span>Bind the tips with a grass stem.</span>
<br/>
<span>Bend and intertwist the stalks</span>
<br/>
<span>at the back. So!</span>
<br/>
<span>Ah! now we are crowned!</span>
<br/>
<span>Now we are a poet!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Quickly!</span>
<br/>
<span>A bunch of little flowers</span>
<br/>
<span>for Flossie⁠—the little ones</span>
<br/>
<span>only:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">a red clover, one</span>
<br/>
<span>blue heal-all, a sprig of</span>
<br/>
<span>bone-set, one primrose,</span>
<br/>
<span>a head of Indian tobacco, this</span>
<br/>
<span>magenta speck and this</span>
<br/>
<span>little lavender!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">Home now, my mind!⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Sonny’s arms are icy, I tell you⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>and have breakfast!</span>
</p>
</section>
</article>
<article id="el-hombre" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">El Hombre</h2>
<p>
<span>It’s a strange courage</span>
<br/>
<span>you give me ancient star:</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Shine alone in the sunrise</span>
<br/>
<span>toward which you lend no part!</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="hero" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Hero</h2>
<p>
<span>Fool,</span>
<br/>
<span>put your adventures</span>
<br/>
<span>into those things</span>
<br/>
<span>which break ships⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>not female flesh.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Let there pass</span>
<br/>
<span>over the mind</span>
<br/>
<span>the waters of</span>
<br/>
<span>four oceans, the airs</span>
<br/>
<span>of four skies!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Return hollow-bellied,</span>
<br/>
<span>keen-eyed, hard!</span>
<br/>
<span>A simple scar or two.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Little girls will come</span>
<br/>
<span>bringing you</span>
<br/>
<span>roses for your button-hole.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="libertad-igualdad-fraternidad" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Libertad! Igualdad! Fraternidad!</h2>
<p>
<span>You sullen pig of a man</span>
<br/>
<span>you force me into the mud</span>
<br/>
<span>with your stinking ash-cart!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Brother!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">—if we were rich</span>
<br/>
<span>we’d stick our chests out</span>
<br/>
<span>and hold our heads high!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>It is dreams that have destroyed us.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>There is no more pride</span>
<br/>
<span>in horses or in rein holding.</span>
<br/>
<span>We sit hunched together brooding</span>
<br/>
<span>our fate.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i5">Well⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>all things turn bitter in the end</span>
<br/>
<span>whether you choose the right or</span>
<br/>
<span>the left way</span>
<br/>
<span class="i5">and⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>dreams are not a bad thing.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="canthara" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Canthara</h2>
<p>
<span>The old black-man showed me</span>
<br/>
<span>how he had been shocked</span>
<br/>
<span>in his youth</span>
<br/>
<span>by six women, dancing</span>
<br/>
<span>a set-dance, stark naked below</span>
<br/>
<span>the skirts raised round</span>
<br/>
<span>their breasts:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">bellies flung forward</span>
<br/>
<span>knees flying!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i8">—while</span>
<br/>
<span>his gestures, against the</span>
<br/>
<span>tiled wall of the dingy bath-room,</span>
<br/>
<span>swished with ecstasy to</span>
<br/>
<span>the familiar music of</span>
<br/>
<span class="i8">his old emotion.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="mujer" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Mujer</h2>
<p>
<span>Oh, black Persian cat!</span>
<br/>
<span>Was not your life</span>
<br/>
<span>already cursed with offspring?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>We took you for rest to that old</span>
<br/>
<span>Yankee farm⁠—so lonely</span>
<br/>
<span>and with so many field mice</span>
<br/>
<span>in the long grass⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>and you return to us</span>
<br/>
<span>in this condition⁠—!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Oh, black Persian cat.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="summer-song" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Summer Song</h2>
<p>
<span>Wanderer moon</span>
<br/>
<span>smiling a</span>
<br/>
<span>faintly ironical smile</span>
<br/>
<span>at this</span>
<br/>
<span>brilliant, dew-moistened</span>
<br/>
<span>summer morning,⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>a detached</span>
<br/>
<span>sleepily indifferent</span>
<br/>
<span>smile, a</span>
<br/>
<span>wanderer’s smile,⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>if I should</span>
<br/>
<span>buy a shirt</span>
<br/>
<span>your color and</span>
<br/>
<span>put on a necktie</span>
<br/>
<span>sky blue</span>
<br/>
<span>where would they carry me?</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="love-song-2" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Love Song</h2>
<p>
<span>Sweep the house clean,</span>
<br/>
<span>hang fresh curtains</span>
<br/>
<span>in the windows</span>
<br/>
<span>put on a new dress</span>
<br/>
<span>and come with me!</span>
<br/>
<span>The elm is scattering</span>
<br/>
<span>its little loaves</span>
<br/>
<span>of sweet smells</span>
<br/>
<span>from a white sky!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Who shall hear of us</span>
<br/>
<span>in the time to come?</span>
<br/>
<span>Let him say there was</span>
<br/>
<span>a burst of fragrance</span>
<br/>
<span>from black branches.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="foreign" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Foreign</h2>
<p>
<span>Artsybashev is a Russian.</span>
<br/>
<span>I am an American.</span>
<br/>
<span>Let us wonder, my townspeople,</span>
<br/>
<span>if Artsybashev tends his own fires</span>
<br/>
<span>as I do, gets himself cursed</span>
<br/>
<span>for the baby’s failure to thrive,</span>
<br/>
<span>loosens windows for the woman</span>
<br/>
<span>who cleans his parlor⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>or has he neat servants</span>
<br/>
<span>and a quiet library, an</span>
<br/>
<span>intellectual wife perhaps and</span>
<br/>
<span>no children⁠—an apartment</span>
<br/>
<span>somewhere in a back street or</span>
<br/>
<span>lives alone or with his mother</span>
<br/>
<span>or sister⁠—</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>I wonder, my townspeople,</span>
<br/>
<span>if Artsybashev looks upon</span>
<br/>
<span>himself the more concernedly</span>
<br/>
<span>or succeeds any better than I</span>
<br/>
<span>in laying the world.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>I wonder which is the bigger</span>
<br/>
<span>fool in his own mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>These are shining topics</span>
<br/>
<span>my townspeople but⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>hardly of great moment.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="a-prelude" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">A Prelude</h2>
<p>
<span>I know only the bare rocks of today.</span>
<br/>
<span>In these lies my brown sea-weed,⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>green quartz veins bent through the wet shale;</span>
<br/>
<span>in these lie my pools left by the tide⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>quiet, forgetting waves;</span>
<br/>
<span>on these stiffen white star fish;</span>
<br/>
<span>on these I slip bare footed!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Whispers of the fishy air touch my body;</span>
<br/>
<span>“Sisters,” I say to them.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="history" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">History</h2>
<section id="history-1" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">I</h3>
<p>
<span>A wind might blow a lotus petal</span>
<br/>
<span>over the pyramids⁠—but not this wind.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Summer is a dried leaf.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Leaves stir this way then that</span>
<br/>
<span>on the baked asphalt, the wheels</span>
<br/>
<span>of motor cars rush over them,⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">gas smells mingle with leaf smells.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Oh, Sunday, day of worship!!!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The steps to the museum are high.</span>
<br/>
<span>Worshippers pass in and out.</span>
<br/>
<span>Nobody comes here today.</span>
<br/>
<span>I come here to mingle faiance dug</span>
<br/>
<span>from the tomb, turquoise colored</span>
<br/>
<span>necklaces and belched wind from the</span>
<br/>
<span>stomach; delicately veined basins</span>
<br/>
<span>of agate, cracked and discolored and</span>
<br/>
<span>the stink of stale urine!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Enter! Elbow in at the door.</span>
<br/>
<span>Men? Women?</span>
<br/>
<span>Simpering, clay fetish-faces counting</span>
<br/>
<span>through the turnstile.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i9">Ah!</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="history-2" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">II</h3>
<p>
<span>This sarcophagus contained the body</span>
<br/>
<span>of Uresh-Nai, priestess to the goddess Mut,</span>
<br/>
<span>Mother of All⁠—</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Run your finger against this edge!</span>
<br/>
<span>—here went the chisel!⁠—and think</span>
<br/>
<span>of an arrogance endured six thousand years</span>
<br/>
<span>without a flaw!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But love is an oil to embalm the body.</span>
<br/>
<span>Love is a packet of spices, a strong</span>
<br/>
<span>smelling liquid to be squirted into</span>
<br/>
<span>the thigh. No?</span>
<br/>
<span>Love rubbed on a bald head will make</span>
<br/>
<span>hair⁠—and after? Love is</span>
<br/>
<span>a lice comber!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">Gnats on dung!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>“The chisel is in your hand, the block</span>
<br/>
<span>is before you, cut as I shall dictate:</span>
<br/>
<span>this is the coffin of Uresh-Nai,</span>
<br/>
<span>priestess to the sky goddess,⁠—built</span>
<br/>
<span>to endure forever!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i7">Carve the inside</span>
<br/>
<span>with the image of my death in</span>
<br/>
<span>little lines of figures three fingers high.</span>
<br/>
<span>Put a lid on it cut with Mut bending over</span>
<br/>
<span>the earth, for my headpiece, and in the year</span>
<br/>
<span>to be chosen I will rouse, the lid</span>
<br/>
<span>shall be lifted and I will walk about</span>
<br/>
<span>the temple where they have rested me</span>
<br/>
<span>and eat the air of the place:</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Ah⁠—these walls are high! This</span>
<br/>
<span>is in keeping.”</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="history-3" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">III</h3>
<p>
<span>The priestess has passed into her tomb.</span>
<br/>
<span>The stone has taken up her spirit!</span>
<br/>
<span>Granite over flesh: who will deny</span>
<br/>
<span>its advantages?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Your death?⁠—water</span>
<br/>
<span>spilled upon the ground⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>though water will mount again into rose-leaves⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>but you?⁠—would hold life still,</span>
<br/>
<span>even as a memory, when it is over.</span>
<br/>
<span>Benevolence is rare.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Climb about this sarcophagus, read</span>
<br/>
<span>what is writ for you in these figures,</span>
<br/>
<span>hard as the granite that has held them</span>
<br/>
<span>with so soft a hand the while</span>
<br/>
<span>your own flesh has been fifty times</span>
<br/>
<span>through the guts of oxen,⁠—read!</span>
<br/>
<span>“The rose-tree will have its donor</span>
<br/>
<span>even though he give stingily.</span>
<br/>
<span>The gift of some endures</span>
<br/>
<span>ten years, the gift of some twenty</span>
<br/>
<span>and the gift of some for the time a</span>
<br/>
<span>great house rots and is torn down.</span>
<br/>
<span>Some give for a thousand years to men of</span>
<br/>
<span>one face, some for a thousand</span>
<br/>
<span>to all men and some few to all men</span>
<br/>
<span>while granite holds an edge against</span>
<br/>
<span>the weather.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i5">Judge then of love!”</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="history-4" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">IV</h3>
<p>
<span>“My flesh is turned to stone. I</span>
<br/>
<span>have endured my summer. The flurry</span>
<br/>
<span>of falling petals is ended. Lay</span>
<br/>
<span>the finger upon this granite. I was</span>
<br/>
<span>well desired and fully caressed</span>
<br/>
<span>by many lovers but my flesh</span>
<br/>
<span>withered swiftly and my heart was</span>
<br/>
<span>never satisfied. Lay your hands</span>
<br/>
<span>upon the granite as a lover lays his</span>
<br/>
<span>hand upon the thigh and upon the</span>
<br/>
<span>round breasts of her who is</span>
<br/>
<span>beside him, for now I will not wither,</span>
<br/>
<span>now I have thrown off secrecy, now</span>
<br/>
<span>I have walked naked into the street,</span>
<br/>
<span>now I have scattered my heavy beauty</span>
<br/>
<span>in the open market.</span>
<br/>
<span>Here I am with head high and a</span>
<br/>
<span>burning heart eagerly awaiting</span>
<br/>
<span>your caresses, whoever it may be,</span>
<br/>
<span>for granite is not harder than</span>
<br/>
<span>my love is open, runs loose among you!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>I arrogant against death! I</span>
<br/>
<span>who have endured! I worn against</span>
<br/>
<span>the years!”</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="history-5" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">V</h3>
<p>
<span>But it is five o’clock. Come!</span>
<br/>
<span>Life is good⁠—enjoy it!</span>
<br/>
<span>A walk in the park while the day lasts.</span>
<br/>
<span>I will go with you. Look! this</span>
<br/>
<span>northern scenery is not the Nile, but⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>these benches⁠—the yellow and purple dusk⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>the moon there⁠—these tired people⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>the lights on the water!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Are not these Jews and⁠—Ethiopians?</span>
<br/>
<span>The world is young, surely! Young</span>
<br/>
<span>and colored like⁠—a girl that has come upon</span>
<br/>
<span>a lover! Will that do?</span>
</p>
</section>
</article>
<article id="winter-quiet" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Winter Quiet</h2>
<p>
<span>Limb to limb, mouth to mouth</span>
<br/>
<span>with the bleached grass</span>
<br/>
<span>silver mist lies upon the back yards</span>
<br/>
<span>among the outhouses.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i8">The dwarf trees</span>
<br/>
<span>pirouette awkwardly to it⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>whirling round on one toe;</span>
<br/>
<span>the big tree smiles and glances</span>
<br/>
<span class="i11">upward!</span>
<br/>
<span>Tense with suppressed excitement</span>
<br/>
<span>the fences watch where the ground</span>
<br/>
<span>has humped an aching shoulder for</span>
<br/>
<span class="i10">the ecstasy.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="dawn" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Dawn</h2>
<p>
<span>Ecstatic bird songs pound</span>
<br/>
<span>the hollow vastness of the sky</span>
<br/>
<span>with metallic clinkings⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>beating color up into it</span>
<br/>
<span>at a far edge⁠—beating it, beating it</span>
<br/>
<span>with rising, triumphant ardor,⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>stirring it into warmth,</span>
<br/>
<span>quickening in it a spreading change,⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>bursting wildly against it as</span>
<br/>
<span>dividing the horizon, a heavy sun</span>
<br/>
<span>lifts himself⁠—is lifted⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>bit by bit above the edge</span>
<br/>
<span>of things,⁠—runs free at last</span>
<br/>
<span>out into the open⁠—! lumbering</span>
<br/>
<span>glorified in full release upward⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i11">songs cease.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="good-night" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Good Night</h2>
<p>
<span>In brilliant gas light</span>
<br/>
<span>I turn the kitchen spigot</span>
<br/>
<span>and watch the water plash</span>
<br/>
<span>into the clean white sink.</span>
<br/>
<span>On the grooved drain-board</span>
<br/>
<span>to one side is</span>
<br/>
<span>a glass filled with parsley⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>crisped green.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">Waiting</span>
<br/>
<span>for the water to freshen⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>I glance at the spotless floor⁠—:</span>
<br/>
<span>a pair of rubber sandals</span>
<br/>
<span>lie side by side</span>
<br/>
<span>under the wall-table,</span>
<br/>
<span>all is in order for the night.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Waiting, with a glass in my hand</span>
<br/>
<span>—three girls in crimson satin</span>
<br/>
<span>pass close before me on</span>
<br/>
<span>the murmurous background of</span>
<br/>
<span>the crowded opera⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i8">it is</span>
<br/>
<span>memory playing the clown⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>three vague, meaningless girls</span>
<br/>
<span>full of smells and</span>
<br/>
<span>the rustling sound of</span>
<br/>
<span>cloth rubbing on cloth and</span>
<br/>
<span>little slippers on carpet⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>high-school French</span>
<br/>
<span>spoken in a loud voice!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Parsley in a glass,</span>
<br/>
<span>still and shining,</span>
<br/>
<span>brings me back. I take my drink</span>
<br/>
<span>and yawn deliciously.</span>
<br/>
<span>I am ready for bed.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="danse-russe" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Danse Russe</h2>
<p>
<span>If I when my wife is sleeping</span>
<br/>
<span>and the baby and Kathleen</span>
<br/>
<span>are sleeping</span>
<br/>
<span>and the sun is a flame-white disc</span>
<br/>
<span>in silken mists</span>
<br/>
<span>above shining trees,⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>if I in my north room</span>
<br/>
<span>danse naked, grotesquely</span>
<br/>
<span>before my mirror</span>
<br/>
<span>waving my shirt round my head</span>
<br/>
<span>and singing softly to myself:</span>
<br/>
<span>“I am lonely, lonely.</span>
<br/>
<span>I was born to be lonely.</span>
<br/>
<span>I am best so!”</span>
<br/>
<span>If I admire my arms, my face</span>
<br/>
<span>my shoulders, flanks, buttocks</span>
<br/>
<span>against the yellow drawn shades,⁠—</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>who shall say I am not</span>
<br/>
<span>the happy genius of my household?</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="portrait-of-a-woman-in-bed" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Portrait of a Woman in Bed</h2>
<p>
<span>There’s my things</span>
<br/>
<span>drying in the corner:</span>
<br/>
<span>that blue skirt</span>
<br/>
<span>joined to the grey shirt⁠—</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>I’m sick of trouble!</span>
<br/>
<span>Lift the covers</span>
<br/>
<span>if you want me</span>
<br/>
<span>and you’ll see</span>
<br/>
<span>the rest of my clothes⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>though it would be cold</span>
<br/>
<span>lying with nothing on!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>I won’t work</span>
<br/>
<span>and I’ve got no cash.</span>
<br/>
<span>What are you going to do</span>
<br/>
<span>about it?</span>
<br/>
<span>—and no jewelry</span>
<br/>
<span>(the crazy fools)</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But I’ve my two eyes</span>
<br/>
<span>and a smooth face</span>
<br/>
<span>and here’s this! look!</span>
<br/>
<span>it’s high!</span>
<br/>
<span>There’s brains and blood</span>
<br/>
<span>in there⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>my name’s Robitza!</span>
<br/>
<span>Corsets</span>
<br/>
<span>can go to the devil⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>and drawers along with them!</span>
<br/>
<span>What do I care!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>My two boys?</span>
<br/>
<span>—they’re keen!</span>
<br/>
<span>Let the rich lady</span>
<br/>
<span>care for them⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>they’ll beat the school</span>
<br/>
<span>or</span>
<br/>
<span>let them go to the gutter⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>that ends trouble.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>This house is empty</span>
<br/>
<span>isn’t it?</span>
<br/>
<span>Then it’s mine</span>
<br/>
<span>because I need it.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Oh, I won’t starve</span>
<br/>
<span>while there’s the Bible</span>
<br/>
<span>to make them feed me.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Try to help me</span>
<br/>
<span>if you want trouble</span>
<br/>
<span>or leave me alone⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>that ends trouble.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The county physician</span>
<br/>
<span>is a damned fool</span>
<br/>
<span>and you</span>
<br/>
<span>can go to hell!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>You could have closed the door</span>
<br/>
<span>when you came in;</span>
<br/>
<span>do it when you go out.</span>
<br/>
<span>I’m tired.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="virtue" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Virtue</h2>
<p>
<span>Now? Why⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>whirl-pools of</span>
<br/>
<span>orange and purple flame</span>
<br/>
<span>feather twists of chrome</span>
<br/>
<span>on a green ground</span>
<br/>
<span>funneling down upon</span>
<br/>
<span>the steaming phallus-head</span>
<br/>
<span>of the mad sun himself⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>blackened crimson!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i9">Now?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Why⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>it is the smile of her</span>
<br/>
<span>the smell of her</span>
<br/>
<span>the vulgar inviting mouth of her!</span>
<br/>
<span>It is⁠—Oh, nothing new</span>
<br/>
<span>nothing that lasts</span>
<br/>
<span>an eternity, nothing worth</span>
<br/>
<span>putting out to interest,</span>
<br/>
<span>nothing⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>but the fixing of an eye</span>
<br/>
<span>concretely upon emptiness!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Come! here are⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>cross-eyed men, a boy</span>
<br/>
<span>with a patch, men walking</span>
<br/>
<span>in their shirts, men in hats</span>
<br/>
<span>dark men, a pale man</span>
<br/>
<span>with little black moustaches</span>
<br/>
<span>and a dirty white coat,</span>
<br/>
<span>fat men with pudgy faces,</span>
<br/>
<span>thin faces, crooked faces</span>
<br/>
<span>slit eyes, grey eyes, black eyes</span>
<br/>
<span>old men with dirty beards,</span>
<br/>
<span>men in vests with</span>
<br/>
<span>gold watch chains. Come!</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="conquest" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<header>
<h2 epub:type="title">Conquest</h2>
<p epub:type="dedication">Dedicated to <abbr class="eoc" epub:type="z3998:personal-name">F. W.</abbr></p>
</header>
<p>
<span>Hard, chilly colors:</span>
<br/>
<span>straw grey, frost grey</span>
<br/>
<span>the grey of frozen ground:</span>
<br/>
<span>and you, O sun,</span>
<br/>
<span>close above the horizon!</span>
<br/>
<span>It is I holds you⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>half against the sky</span>
<br/>
<span>half against a black tree trunk</span>
<br/>
<span>icily resplendent!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Lie there, blue city, mine at last⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>rimming the banked blue grey</span>
<br/>
<span>and rise, indescribable smoky yellow</span>
<br/>
<span>into the overpowering white!</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="portrait-of-a-young-man-with-a-bad-heart" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Portrait of a Young Man with a Bad Heart</h2>
<p>
<span>Have I seen her?</span>
<br/>
<span>Only through the window</span>
<br/>
<span>across the street.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>If I go meeting her</span>
<br/>
<span>on the corner</span>
<br/>
<span>some damned fool</span>
<br/>
<span>will go blabbing it</span>
<br/>
<span>to the old man and</span>
<br/>
<span>she’ll get hell.</span>
<br/>
<span>He’s a queer old bastard!</span>
<br/>
<span>Every time he sees me</span>
<br/>
<span>you’d think</span>
<br/>
<span>I wanted to kill him.</span>
<br/>
<span>But I figure it out</span>
<br/>
<span>it’s best to let things</span>
<br/>
<span>stay as they are⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>for a while at least.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>It’s hard</span>
<br/>
<span>giving up the thing</span>
<br/>
<span>you want most</span>
<br/>
<span>in the world, but with this</span>
<br/>
<span>damned pump of mine</span>
<br/>
<span>liable to give out⁠ ⁠…</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>She’s a good kid</span>
<br/>
<span>and I’d hate to hurt her</span>
<br/>
<span>but if she can get over it⁠—</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>it’d be the best thing.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="keller-gegen-dom" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Keller Gegen Dom</h2>
<p>
<span>Witness, would you⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>one more young man</span>
<br/>
<span>in the evening of his love</span>
<br/>
<span>hurrying to confession:</span>
<br/>
<span>steps down a gutter</span>
<br/>
<span>crosses a street</span>
<br/>
<span>goes in at a doorway</span>
<br/>
<span>opens for you⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>like some great flower⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>a room filled with lamplight;</span>
<br/>
<span>or whirls himself</span>
<br/>
<span>obediently to</span>
<br/>
<span>the curl of a hill</span>
<br/>
<span>some wind-dancing afternoon;</span>
<br/>
<span>lies for you in</span>
<br/>
<span>the futile darkness of</span>
<br/>
<span>a wall, sets stars dancing</span>
<br/>
<span>to the crack of a leaf⁠—</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>and⁠—leaning his head away⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>snuffs (secretly)</span>
<br/>
<span>the bitter powder from</span>
<br/>
<span>his thumb’s hollow,</span>
<br/>
<span>takes your blessing and</span>
<br/>
<span>goes home to bed?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Witness instead</span>
<br/>
<span>whether you like it or not</span>
<br/>
<span>a dark vinegar smelling place</span>
<br/>
<span>from which trickles</span>
<br/>
<span>the chuckle of</span>
<br/>
<span>beginning laughter</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>It strikes midnight.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="smell" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Smell!</h2>
<p>
<span>Oh strong ridged and deeply hollowed</span>
<br/>
<span>nose of mine! what will you not be smelling?</span>
<br/>
<span>What tactless asses we are, you and I, boney nose,</span>
<br/>
<span>always indiscriminate, always unashamed,</span>
<br/>
<span>and now it is the souring flowers of the bedraggled</span>
<br/>
<span>poplars: a festering pulp on the wet earth</span>
<br/>
<span>beneath them. With what deep thirst</span>
<br/>
<span>we quicken our desires</span>
<br/>
<span>to that rank odor of a passing spring-time!</span>
<br/>
<span>Can you not be decent? Can you not reserve your ardors</span>
<br/>
<span>for something less unlovely? What girl will care</span>
<br/>
<span>for us, do you think, if we continue in these ways?</span>
<br/>
<span>Must you taste everything? Must you know everything?</span>
<br/>
<span>Must you have a part in everything?</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="ballet" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Ballet</h2>
<p>
<span>Are you not weary,</span>
<br/>
<span>great gold cross</span>
<br/>
<span>shining in the wind⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>are you not weary</span>
<br/>
<span>of seeing the stars</span>
<br/>
<span>turning over you</span>
<br/>
<span>and the sun</span>
<br/>
<span>going to his rest</span>
<br/>
<span>and you frozen with</span>
<br/>
<span>a great lie</span>
<br/>
<span>that leaves you</span>
<br/>
<span>rigid as a knight</span>
<br/>
<span>on a marble coffin?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>—and you,</span>
<br/>
<span>higher, still,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i5">robin,</span>
<br/>
<span>untwisting a song</span>
<br/>
<span>from the bare</span>
<br/>
<span>top-twigs,</span>
<br/>
<span>are you not</span>
<br/>
<span>weary of labor,</span>
<br/>
<span>even the labor of</span>
<br/>
<span>a song?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Come down⁠—join me</span>
<br/>
<span>for I am lonely.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>First it will be</span>
<br/>
<span>a quiet pace</span>
<br/>
<span>to ease our stiffness</span>
<br/>
<span>but as the west yellows</span>
<br/>
<span>you will be ready!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Here in the middle</span>
<br/>
<span>of the roadway</span>
<br/>
<span>we will fling</span>
<br/>
<span>ourselves round</span>
<br/>
<span>with dust lilies</span>
<br/>
<span>till we are bound in</span>
<br/>
<span>their twining stems!</span>
<br/>
<span>We will tear</span>
<br/>
<span>their flowers</span>
<br/>
<span>with arms flashing!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And when</span>
<br/>
<span>the astonished stars</span>
<br/>
<span>push aside</span>
<br/>
<span>their curtains</span>
<br/>
<span>they will see us</span>
<br/>
<span>fall exhausted where</span>
<br/>
<span>wheels and</span>
<br/>
<span>the pounding feet</span>
<br/>
<span>of horses</span>
<br/>
<span>will crush forth</span>
<br/>
<span>our laughter.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="sympathetic-portrait-of-a-child" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Sympathetic Portrait of a Child</h2>
<p>
<span>The murderer’s little daughter</span>
<br/>
<span>who is barely ten years old</span>
<br/>
<span>jerks her shoulders</span>
<br/>
<span>right and left</span>
<br/>
<span>so as to catch a glimpse of me</span>
<br/>
<span>without turning round.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Her skinny little arms</span>
<br/>
<span>wrap themselves</span>
<br/>
<span>this way then that</span>
<br/>
<span>reversely about her body!</span>
<br/>
<span>Nervously</span>
<br/>
<span>she crushes her straw hat</span>
<br/>
<span>about her eyes</span>
<br/>
<span>and tilts her head</span>
<br/>
<span>to deepen the shadow⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>smiling excitedly!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>As best as she can</span>
<br/>
<span>she hides herself</span>
<br/>
<span>in the full sunlight</span>
<br/>
<span>her cordy legs writhing</span>
<br/>
<span>beneath the little flowered dress</span>
<br/>
<span>that leaves them bare</span>
<br/>
<span>from mid-thigh to ankle⁠—</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Why has she chosen me</span>
<br/>
<span>for the knife</span>
<br/>
<span>that darts along her smile?</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="the-ogre" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">The Ogre</h2>
<p>
<span>Sweet child,</span>
<br/>
<span>little girl with well shaped legs</span>
<br/>
<span>you cannot touch the thoughts</span>
<br/>
<span>I put over and under and around you.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>This is fortunate for they would</span>
<br/>
<span>burn you to an ash otherwise.</span>
<br/>
<span>Your petals would be quite curled up.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>This is all beyond you⁠—no doubt,</span>
<br/>
<span>yet you do feel the brushings</span>
<br/>
<span>of the fine needles;</span>
<br/>
<span>the tentative lines of your whole body</span>
<br/>
<span>prove it to me;</span>
<br/>
<span>so does your fear of me,</span>
<br/>
<span>your shyness;</span>
<br/>
<span>likewise the toy baby cart</span>
<br/>
<span>that you are pushing⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>and besides, mother has begun</span>
<br/>
<span>to dress your hair in a knot.</span>
<br/>
<span>These are my excuses.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="riposte" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Riposte</h2>
<p>
<span>Love is like water or the air</span>
<br/>
<span>my townspeople;</span>
<br/>
<span>it cleanses, and dissipates evil gases.</span>
<br/>
<span>It is like poetry too</span>
<br/>
<span>and for the same reasons.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Love is so precious</span>
<br/>
<span>my townspeople</span>
<br/>
<span>that if I were you I would</span>
<br/>
<span>have it under lock and key⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>like the air or the Atlantic or</span>
<br/>
<span>like poetry!</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="the-old-men" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">The Old Men</h2>
<p>
<span>Old men who have studied</span>
<br/>
<span>every leg show</span>
<br/>
<span>in the city</span>
<br/>
<span>Old men cut from touch</span>
<br/>
<span>by the perfumed music⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>polished or fleeced skulls</span>
<br/>
<span>that stand before</span>
<br/>
<span>the whole theater</span>
<br/>
<span>in silent attitudes</span>
<br/>
<span>of attention,⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>old men who have taken precedence</span>
<br/>
<span>over young men</span>
<br/>
<span>and even over dark-faced</span>
<br/>
<span>husbands whose minds</span>
<br/>
<span>are a street with arc-lights.</span>
<br/>
<span>Solitary old men for whom</span>
<br/>
<span>we find no excuses⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>I bow my head in shame</span>
<br/>
<span>for those who malign you.</span>
<br/>
<span>Old men</span>
<br/>
<span>the peaceful beer of impotence</span>
<br/>
<span>be yours!</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="pastoral-3" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Pastoral</h2>
<p>
<span>If I say I have heard voices</span>
<br/>
<span>who will believe me?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i2">“None has dipped his hand</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">in the black waters of the sky</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">nor picked the yellow lilies</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">that sway on their clear stems</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">and no tree has waited</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">long enough nor still enough</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">to touch fingers with the moon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>I looked and there were little frogs</span>
<br/>
<span>with puffed out throats,</span>
<br/>
<span>singing in the slime.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="spring-strains" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Spring Strains</h2>
<p>
<span>In a tissue-thin monotone of blue-grey buds</span>
<br/>
<span>crowded erect with desire against</span>
<br/>
<span>the sky⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i5">tense blue-grey twigs</span>
<br/>
<span>slenderly anchoring them down, drawing</span>
<br/>
<span>them in⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i5">two blue-grey birds chasing</span>
<br/>
<span>a third struggle in circles, angles,</span>
<br/>
<span>swift convergings to a point that bursts</span>
<br/>
<span>instantly!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i5">Vibrant bowing limbs</span>
<br/>
<span>pull downward, sucking in the sky</span>
<br/>
<span>that bulges from behind, plastering itself</span>
<br/>
<span>against them in packed rifts, rock blue</span>
<br/>
<span>and dirty orange!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">But⁠—</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>(Hold hard, rigid jointed trees!)</span>
<br/>
<span>the blinding and red-edged sun-blur⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>creeping energy, concentrated</span>
<br/>
<span>counterforce⁠—welds sky, buds, trees,</span>
<br/>
<span>rivets them in one puckering hold!</span>
<br/>
<span>Sticks through! Pulls the whole</span>
<br/>
<span>counter-pulling mass upward, to the right,</span>
<br/>
<span>locks even the opaque, not yet defined</span>
<br/>
<span>ground in a terrific drag that is</span>
<br/>
<span>loosening the very tap-roots!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>On a tissue-thin monotone of blue-grey buds</span>
<br/>
<span>two blue-grey birds, chasing a third,</span>
<br/>
<span>at full cry! Now they are</span>
<br/>
<span>flung outward and up⁠—disappearing suddenly!</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="trees" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Trees</h2>
<p>
<span>Crooked, black tree</span>
<br/>
<span>on your little grey-black hillock,</span>
<br/>
<span>ridiculously raised one step toward</span>
<br/>
<span>the infinite summits of the night:</span>
<br/>
<span>even you the few grey stars</span>
<br/>
<span>draw upward into a vague melody</span>
<br/>
<span>of harsh threads.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Bent as you are from straining</span>
<br/>
<span>against the bitter horizontals of</span>
<br/>
<span>a north wind⁠—there below you</span>
<br/>
<span>how easily the long yellow notes</span>
<br/>
<span>of poplars flow upward in a descending</span>
<br/>
<span>scale, each note secure in its own</span>
<br/>
<span>posture⁠—singularly woven.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>All voices are blent willingly</span>
<br/>
<span>against the heaving contra-bass</span>
<br/>
<span>of the dark but you alone</span>
<br/>
<span>warp yourself passionately to one side</span>
<br/>
<span>in your eagerness.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="a-portrait-in-greys" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">A Portrait in Greys</h2>
<p>
<span>Will it never be possible</span>
<br/>
<span>to separate you from your greyness?</span>
<br/>
<span>Must you be always sinking backward</span>
<br/>
<span>into your grey-brown landscapes⁠—and trees</span>
<br/>
<span>always in the distance, always against</span>
<br/>
<span>a grey sky?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">Must I be always</span>
<br/>
<span>moving counter to you? Is there no place</span>
<br/>
<span>where we can be at peace together</span>
<br/>
<span>and the motion of our drawing apart</span>
<br/>
<span>be altogether taken up?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i8">I see myself</span>
<br/>
<span>standing upon your shoulders touching</span>
<br/>
<span>a grey, broken sky⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>but you, weighted down with me,</span>
<br/>
<span>yet gripping my ankles⁠—move</span>
<br/>
<span class="i8">laboriously on,</span>
<br/>
<span>where it is level and undisturbed by colors.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="invitation" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Invitation</h2>
<p>
<span>You who had the sense</span>
<br/>
<span>to choose me such a mother,</span>
<br/>
<span>you who had the indifference</span>
<br/>
<span>to create me,</span>
<br/>
<span>you who went to some pains</span>
<br/>
<span>to leave hands off me</span>
<br/>
<span>in the formative stages,⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>(I thank you most for that</span>
<br/>
<span>perhaps)</span>
<br/>
<span class="i7">but you who</span>
<br/>
<span>with an iron head, first,</span>
<br/>
<span>fiercest and with strongest love</span>
<br/>
<span>brutalized me into strength,</span>
<br/>
<span>old dew-lap⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>I have reached the stage</span>
<br/>
<span>where I am teaching myself</span>
<br/>
<span>to laugh.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i10">Come on,</span>
<br/>
<span>take a walk with me.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="divertimiento" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Divertimiento</h2>
<p>
<span>Miserable little woman</span>
<br/>
<span>in a brown coat⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i9">quit whining!</span>
<br/>
<span>My hand for you!</span>
<br/>
<span>We’ll skip down the tin cornices</span>
<br/>
<span>of Main Street</span>
<br/>
<span>flicking the dull roof-line</span>
<br/>
<span>with our toe-tips!</span>
<br/>
<span>Hop clear of the bank! A</span>
<br/>
<span>pin-wheel round the white flag-pole.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And I’ll sing you the while</span>
<br/>
<span>a thing to split your sides</span>
<br/>
<span>about Johann Sebastian Bach,</span>
<br/>
<span>the father of music, who had</span>
<br/>
<span>three wives and twenty-two children.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="january-morning" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<hgroup>
<h2 epub:type="title">January Morning</h2>
<p epub:type="subtitle">Suite</p>
</hgroup>
<section id="january-morning-1" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">I</h3>
<p>
<span>I have discovered that most of</span>
<br/>
<span>the beauties of travel are due to</span>
<br/>
<span>the strange hours we keep to see them:</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>the domes of the Church of</span>
<br/>
<span>the Paulist Fathers in Weehawken</span>
<br/>
<span>against a smoky dawn⁠—the heart stirred⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>are beautiful as Saint Peters</span>
<br/>
<span>approached after years of anticipation.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="january-morning-2" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">II</h3>
<p>
<span>Though the operation was postponed</span>
<br/>
<span>I saw the tall probationers</span>
<br/>
<span>in their tan uniforms</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">hurrying to breakfast!</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="january-morning-3" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">III</h3>
<p>
<span>—and from basement entrys</span>
<br/>
<span>neatly coiffed, middle aged gentlemen</span>
<br/>
<span>with orderly moustaches and</span>
<br/>
<span>well brushed coats</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="january-morning-4" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">IV</h3>
<p>
<span>—and the sun, dipping into the avenues</span>
<br/>
<span>streaking the tops of</span>
<br/>
<span>the irregular red houselets,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i11">and</span>
<br/>
<span>the gay shadows dropping and dropping.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="january-morning-5" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">V</h3>
<p>
<span>—and a young horse with a green bed-quilt</span>
<br/>
<span>on his withers shaking his head:</span>
<br/>
<span>bared teeth and nozzle high in the air!</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="january-morning-6" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">VI</h3>
<p>
<span>—and a semicircle of dirt colored men</span>
<br/>
<span>about a fire bursting from an old</span>
<br/>
<span>ash can,</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="january-morning-7" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">VII</h3>
<p>
<span class="i5">—and the worn,</span>
<br/>
<span>blue car rails (like the sky!)</span>
<br/>
<span>gleaming among the cobbles!</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="january-morning-8" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">VIII</h3>
<p>
<span>—and the rickety ferry-boat “Arden”!</span>
<br/>
<span>What an object to be called “Arden”</span>
<br/>
<span>among the great piers,⁠—on the</span>
<br/>
<span>ever new river!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i5">“Put me a Touchstone</span>
<br/>
<span>at the wheel, white gulls, and we’ll</span>
<br/>
<span>follow the ghost of the Half Moon</span>
<br/>
<span>to the North West Passage⁠—and through!</span>
<br/>
<span>(at Albany!) for all that!”</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="january-morning-9" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">IX</h3>
<p>
<span>Exquisite brown waves⁠—long</span>
<br/>
<span>circlets of silver moving over you!</span>
<br/>
<span>enough with crumbling ice-crusts among you!</span>
<br/>
<span>The sky has come down to you,</span>
<br/>
<span>lighter than tiny bubbles, face to</span>
<br/>
<span>face with you!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i8">His spirit is</span>
<br/>
<span>a white gull with delicate pink feet</span>
<br/>
<span>and a snowy breast for you to</span>
<br/>
<span>hold to your lips delicately!</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="january-morning-10" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">X</h3>
<p>
<span>The young doctor is dancing with happiness</span>
<br/>
<span>in the sparkling wind, alone</span>
<br/>
<span>at the prow of the ferry! He notices</span>
<br/>
<span>the curdy barnacles and broken ice crusts</span>
<br/>
<span>left at the slip’s base by the low tide</span>
<br/>
<span>and thinks of summer and green</span>
<br/>
<span>shell crusted ledges among</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">the emerald eel-grass!</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="january-morning-11" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">XI</h3>
<p>
<span>Who knows the Palisades as I do</span>
<br/>
<span>knows the river breaks east from them</span>
<br/>
<span>above the city⁠—but they continue south</span>
<br/>
<span>—under the sky⁠—to bear a crest of</span>
<br/>
<span>little peering houses that brighten</span>
<br/>
<span>with dawn behind the moody</span>
<br/>
<span>water-loving giants of Manhattan.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="january-morning-12" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">XII</h3>
<p>
<span>Long yellow rushes bending</span>
<br/>
<span>above the white snow patches;</span>
<br/>
<span>purple and gold ribbon</span>
<br/>
<span>of the distant wood:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i8">what an angle</span>
<br/>
<span>you make with each other as</span>
<br/>
<span>you lie there in contemplation.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="january-morning-13" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">XIII</h3>
<p>
<span>Work hard all your young days</span>
<br/>
<span>and they’ll find you too, some morning</span>
<br/>
<span>staring up under</span>
<br/>
<span>your chiffonier at its warped</span>
<br/>
<span>bass-wood bottom and your soul⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>out!</span>
<br/>
<span>—among the little sparrows</span>
<br/>
<span>behind the shutter.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="january-morning-14" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">XIV</h3>
<p>
<span>—and the flapping flags are at</span>
<br/>
<span>half mast for the dead admiral.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="january-morning-15" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">XV</h3>
<p>
<span>All this⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">was for you, old woman.</span>
<br/>
<span>I wanted to write a poem</span>
<br/>
<span>that you would understand.</span>
<br/>
<span>For what good is it to me</span>
<br/>
<span>if you can’t understand it?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i5">But you got to try hard⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>But⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">Well, you know how</span>
<br/>
<span>the young girls run giggling</span>
<br/>
<span>on Park Avenue after dark</span>
<br/>
<span>when they ought to be home in bed?</span>
<br/>
<span>Well,</span>
<br/>
<span>that’s the way it is with me somehow.</span>
</p>
</section>
</article>
<article id="to-a-solitary-disciple" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">To a Solitary Disciple</h2>
<p>
<span>Rather notice, mon cher,</span>
<br/>
<span>that the moon is</span>
<br/>
<span>tilted above</span>
<br/>
<span>the point of the steeple</span>
<br/>
<span>than that its color</span>
<br/>
<span>is shell-pink.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Rather observe</span>
<br/>
<span>that it is early morning</span>
<br/>
<span>than that the sky</span>
<br/>
<span>is smooth</span>
<br/>
<span>as a turquoise.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Rather grasp</span>
<br/>
<span>how the dark</span>
<br/>
<span>converging lines</span>
<br/>
<span>of the steeple</span>
<br/>
<span>meet at the pinnacle⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>perceive how</span>
<br/>
<span>its little ornament</span>
<br/>
<span>tries to stop them⁠—</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>See how it fails!</span>
<br/>
<span>See how the converging lines</span>
<br/>
<span>of the hexagonal spire</span>
<br/>
<span>escape upward⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>receding, dividing!</span>
<br/>
<span>—sepals</span>
<br/>
<span>that guard and contain</span>
<br/>
<span>the flower!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Observe</span>
<br/>
<span>how motionless</span>
<br/>
<span>the eaten moon</span>
<br/>
<span>lies in the protecting lines.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>It is true:</span>
<br/>
<span>in the light colors</span>
<br/>
<span>of morning</span>
<br/>
<span>brown-stone and slate</span>
<br/>
<span>shine orange and dark blue.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But observe</span>
<br/>
<span>the oppressive weight</span>
<br/>
<span>of the squat edifice!</span>
<br/>
<span>Observe</span>
<br/>
<span>the jasmine lightness</span>
<br/>
<span>of the moon.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="dedication-for-a-plot-of-ground" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Dedication for a Plot of Ground</h2>
<p>
<span>This plot of ground</span>
<br/>
<span>facing the waters of this inlet</span>
<br/>
<span>is dedicated to the living presence of</span>
<br/>
<span>Emily Richardson Wellcome</span>
<br/>
<span>who was born in England; married;</span>
<br/>
<span>lost her husband and with</span>
<br/>
<span>her five year old son</span>
<br/>
<span>sailed for New York in a two-master;</span>
<br/>
<span>was driven to the Azores;</span>
<br/>
<span>ran adrift on Fire Island shoal,</span>
<br/>
<span>met her second husband</span>
<br/>
<span>in a Brooklyn boarding house,</span>
<br/>
<span>went with him to Puerto Rico</span>
<br/>
<span>bore three more children, lost</span>
<br/>
<span>her second husband, lived hard</span>
<br/>
<span>for eight years in <abbr>St.</abbr> Thomas,</span>
<br/>
<span>Puerto Rico, San Domingo, followed</span>
<br/>
<span>the oldest son to New York,</span>
<br/>
<span>lost her daughter, lost her “baby,”</span>
<br/>
<span>seized the two boys of</span>
<br/>
<span>the oldest son by the second marriage</span>
<br/>
<span>mothered them⁠—they being</span>
<br/>
<span>motherless⁠—fought for them</span>
<br/>
<span>against the other grandmother</span>
<br/>
<span>and the aunts, brought them here</span>
<br/>
<span>summer after summer, defended</span>
<br/>
<span>herself here against thieves,</span>
<br/>
<span>storms, sun, fire,</span>
<br/>
<span>against flies, against girls</span>
<br/>
<span>that came smelling about, against</span>
<br/>
<span>drought, against weeds, storm-tides,</span>
<br/>
<span>neighbors, weasels that stole her chickens,</span>
<br/>
<span>against the weakness of her own hands,</span>
<br/>
<span>against the growing strength of</span>
<br/>
<span>the boys, against wind, against</span>
<br/>
<span>the stones, against trespassers,</span>
<br/>
<span>against rents, against her own mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>She grubbed this earth with her own hands,</span>
<br/>
<span>domineered over this grass plot,</span>
<br/>
<span>blackguarded her oldest son</span>
<br/>
<span>into buying it, lived here fifteen years,</span>
<br/>
<span>attained a final loneliness and⁠—</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>If you can bring nothing to this place</span>
<br/>
<span>but your carcass, keep out.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="k-mcb" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">
<abbr class="eoc" epub:type="z3998:personal-name">K. McB.</abbr>
</h2>
<p>
<span>You exquisite chunk of mud</span>
<br/>
<span>Kathleen⁠—just like</span>
<br/>
<span>any other chunk of mud!</span>
<br/>
<span>—especially in April!</span>
<br/>
<span>Curl up round their shoes</span>
<br/>
<span>when they try to step on you,</span>
<br/>
<span>spoil the polish!</span>
<br/>
<span>I shall laugh till I am sick</span>
<br/>
<span>at their amazement.</span>
<br/>
<span>Do they expect the ground to be</span>
<br/>
<span>always solid?</span>
<br/>
<span>Give them the slip then;</span>
<br/>
<span>let them sit in you;</span>
<br/>
<span>soil their pants;</span>
<br/>
<span>teach them a dignity</span>
<br/>
<span>that is dignity, the dignity</span>
<br/>
<span>of mud!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i5">Lie basking in</span>
<br/>
<span>the sun then⁠—fast asleep!</span>
<br/>
<span>Even become dust on occasion.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="love-song3" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Love Song</h2>
<p>
<span>I lie here thinking of you:⁠—</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>the stain of love</span>
<br/>
<span>is upon the world!</span>
<br/>
<span>Yellow, yellow, yellow</span>
<br/>
<span>it eats into the leaves,</span>
<br/>
<span>smears with saffron</span>
<br/>
<span>the horned branches that lean</span>
<br/>
<span>heavily</span>
<br/>
<span>against a smooth purple sky!</span>
<br/>
<span>There is no light</span>
<br/>
<span>only a honey-thick stain</span>
<br/>
<span>that drips from leaf to leaf</span>
<br/>
<span>and limb to limb</span>
<br/>
<span>spoiling the colors</span>
<br/>
<span>of the whole world⁠—</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>you far off there under</span>
<br/>
<span>the wine-red selvage of the west!</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="the-wanderer" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<hgroup>
<h2 epub:type="title">The Wanderer</h2>
<p epub:type="subtitle">A Rococo Study</p>
</hgroup>
<section id="the-wanderer-1" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="title">Advent</h3>
<p>
<span>Even in the time when as yet</span>
<br/>
<span>I had no certain knowledge of her</span>
<br/>
<span>She sprang from the nest, a young crow,</span>
<br/>
<span>Whose first flight circled the forest.</span>
<br/>
<span>I know now how then she showed me</span>
<br/>
<span>Her mind, reaching out to the horizon,</span>
<br/>
<span>She close above the tree tops.</span>
<br/>
<span>I saw her eyes straining at the new distance</span>
<br/>
<span>And as the woods fell from her flying</span>
<br/>
<span>Likewise they fell from me as I followed⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>So that I strongly guessed all that I must put from me</span>
<br/>
<span>To come through ready for the high courses.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But one day, crossing the ferry</span>
<br/>
<span>With the great towers of Manhattan before me,</span>
<br/>
<span>Out at the prow with the sea wind blowing,</span>
<br/>
<span>I had been wearying many questions</span>
<br/>
<span>Which she had put on to try me:</span>
<br/>
<span>How shall I be a mirror to this modernity?</span>
<br/>
<span>When lo! in a rush, dragging</span>
<br/>
<span>A blunt boat on the yielding river⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Suddenly I saw her! And she waved me</span>
<br/>
<span>From the white wet in midst of her playing!</span>
<br/>
<span>She cried me, “Haia! Here I am, son!</span>
<br/>
<span>See how strong my little finger is!</span>
<br/>
<span>Can I not swim well?</span>
<br/>
<span>I can fly too!” And with that a great sea-gull</span>
<br/>
<span>Went to the left, vanishing with a wild cry⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>But in my mind all the persons of godhead</span>
<br/>
<span>Followed after.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="the-wanderer-2" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="title">Clarity</h3>
<p>
<span>“Come!” cried my mind and by her might</span>
<br/>
<span>That was upon us we flew above the river</span>
<br/>
<span>Seeking her, grey gulls among the white⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>In the air speaking as she had willed it:</span>
<br/>
<span>“I am given,” cried I, “now I know it!</span>
<br/>
<span>I know now all my time is forespent!</span>
<br/>
<span>For me one face is all the world!</span>
<br/>
<span>For I have seen her at last, this day,</span>
<br/>
<span>In whom age in age is united⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Indifferent, out of sequence, marvelously!</span>
<br/>
<span>Saving alone that one sequence</span>
<br/>
<span>Which is the beauty of all the world, for surely</span>
<br/>
<span>Either there in the rolling smoke spheres below us</span>
<br/>
<span>Or here with us in the air intercircling,</span>
<br/>
<span>Certainly somewhere here about us</span>
<br/>
<span>I know she is revealing these things!”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And as gulls we flew and with soft cries</span>
<br/>
<span>We seemed to speak, flying, “It is she</span>
<br/>
<span>The mighty, recreating the whole world,</span>
<br/>
<span>This the first day of wonders!</span>
<br/>
<span>She is attiring herself before me⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Taking shape before me for worship,</span>
<br/>
<span>A red leaf that falls upon a stone!</span>
<br/>
<span>It is she of whom I told you, old</span>
<br/>
<span>Forgiveless, unreconcilable;</span>
<br/>
<span>That high wanderer of by-ways</span>
<br/>
<span>Walking imperious in beggary!</span>
<br/>
<span>At her throat is loose gold, a single chain</span>
<br/>
<span>From among many, on her bent fingers</span>
<br/>
<span>Are rings from which the stones are fallen,</span>
<br/>
<span>Her wrists wear a diminished state, her ankles</span>
<br/>
<span>Are bare! Toward the river! Is it she there?”</span>
<br/>
<span>And we swerved clamorously downward⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>“I will take my peace in her henceforth!”</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="the-wanderer-3" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="title">Broadway</h3>
<p>
<span>It was then she struck⁠—from behind,</span>
<br/>
<span>In mid air, as with the edge of a great wing!</span>
<br/>
<span>And instantly down the mists of my eyes</span>
<br/>
<span>There came crowds walking⁠—men as visions</span>
<br/>
<span>With expressionless, animate faces;</span>
<br/>
<span>Empty men with shell-thin bodies</span>
<br/>
<span>Jostling close above the gutter,</span>
<br/>
<span>Hasting⁠—nowhere! And then for the first time</span>
<br/>
<span>I really saw her, really scented the sweat</span>
<br/>
<span>Of her presence and⁠—fell back sickened!</span>
<br/>
<span>Ominous, old, painted⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>With bright lips, and lewd Jew’s eyes</span>
<br/>
<span>Her might strapped in by a corset</span>
<br/>
<span>To give her age youth, perfect</span>
<br/>
<span>In her will to be young she had covered</span>
<br/>
<span>The godhead to go beside me.</span>
<br/>
<span>Silent, her voice entered at my eyes</span>
<br/>
<span>And my astonished thought followed her easily:</span>
<br/>
<span>“Well, do their eyes shine, do their clothes fit?</span>
<br/>
<span>These <em>live</em> I tell you! Old men with red cheeks,</span>
<br/>
<span>Young men in gay suits! See them!</span>
<br/>
<span>Dogged, quivering, impassive⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Well⁠—are these the ones you envied?”</span>
<br/>
<span>At which I answered her, “Marvelous old queen,</span>
<br/>
<span>Grant me power to catch something of this day’s</span>
<br/>
<span>Air and sun into your service!</span>
<br/>
<span>That these toilers after peace and after pleasure</span>
<br/>
<span>May turn to you, worshippers at all hours!”</span>
<br/>
<span>But she sniffed upon the words warily⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet I persisted, watching for an answer:</span>
<br/>
<span>“To you, horrible old woman,</span>
<br/>
<span>Who know all fires out of the bodies</span>
<br/>
<span>Of all men that walk with lust at heart!</span>
<br/>
<span>To you, O mighty, crafty prowler</span>
<br/>
<span>After the youth of all cities, drunk</span>
<br/>
<span>With the sight of thy archness! All the youth</span>
<br/>
<span>That come to you, you having the knowledge</span>
<br/>
<span>Rather than to those uninitiate⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>To you, marvelous old queen, give me always</span>
<br/>
<span>A new marriage⁠—”</span>
<br/>
<span class="i8">But she laughed loudly⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>“A new grip upon those garments that brushed me</span>
<br/>
<span>In days gone by on beach, lawn, and in forest!</span>
<br/>
<span>May I be lifted still, up and out of terror,</span>
<br/>
<span>Up from before the death living around me⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Tom up continually and carried</span>
<br/>
<span>Whatever way the head of your whim is,</span>
<br/>
<span>A burr upon those streaming tatters⁠—”</span>
<br/>
<span>But the night had fallen, she stilled me</span>
<br/>
<span>And led me away.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="the-wanderer-4" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="title">Paterson⁠—The Strike</h3>
<p>
<span>At the first peep of dawn she roused me!</span>
<br/>
<span>I rose trembling at the change which the night saw!</span>
<br/>
<span>For there, wretchedly brooding in a corner</span>
<br/>
<span>From which her old eyes glittered fiercely⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>“Go!” she said, and I hurried shivering</span>
<br/>
<span>Out into the deserted streets of Paterson.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>That night she came again, hovering</span>
<br/>
<span>In rags within the filmy ceiling⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>“Great Queen, bless me with thy tatters!”</span>
<br/>
<span>“You are blest, go on!”</span>
<br/>
<span class="i10">“Hot for savagery,</span>
<br/>
<span>Sucking the air! I went into the city,</span>
<br/>
<span>Out again, baffled onto the mountain!</span>
<br/>
<span>Back into the city!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i8">Nowhere</span>
<br/>
<span>The subtle! Everywhere the electric!”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>“A short bread-line before a hitherto empty tea shop:</span>
<br/>
<span>No questions⁠—all stood patiently,</span>
<br/>
<span>Dominated by one idea: something</span>
<br/>
<span>That carried them as they are always wanting to be carried,</span>
<br/>
<span>‘But what is it,’ I asked those nearest me,</span>
<br/>
<span>‘This thing heretofore unobtainable</span>
<br/>
<span>That they seem so clever to have put on now!’</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>“Why since I have failed them can it be anything but their own brood?</span>
<br/>
<span>Can it be anything but brutality?</span>
<br/>
<span>On that at least they’re united! That at least</span>
<br/>
<span>Is their bean soup, their calm bread and a few luxuries!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>“But in me, more sensitive, marvelous old queen</span>
<br/>
<span>It sank deep into the blood, that I rose upon</span>
<br/>
<span>The tense air enjoying the dusty fight!</span>
<br/>
<span>Heavy drink were the low, sloping foreheads</span>
<br/>
<span>The flat skulls with the unkempt black or blond hair,</span>
<br/>
<span>The ugly legs of the young girls, pistons</span>
<br/>
<span>Too powerful for delicacy!</span>
<br/>
<span>The women’s wrists, the men’s arms, red</span>
<br/>
<span>Used to heat and cold, to toss quartered beeves</span>
<br/>
<span>And barrels, and milk-cans, and crates of fruit!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>“Faces all knotted up like burls on oaks,</span>
<br/>
<span>Grasping, fox-snouted, thick-lipped,</span>
<br/>
<span>Sagging breasts and protruding stomachs,</span>
<br/>
<span>Rasping voices, filthy habits with the hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>“Nowhere you! Everywhere the electric!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>“Ugly, venemous, gigantic!</span>
<br/>
<span>Tossing me as a great father his helpless</span>
<br/>
<span>Infant till it shriek with ecstasy</span>
<br/>
<span>And its eyes roll and its tongue hangs out!⁠—</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>“I am at peace again, old queen, I listen clearer now.”</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="the-wanderer-5" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="title">Abroad</h3>
<p>
<span>Never, even in a dream,</span>
<br/>
<span>Have I winged so high nor so well</span>
<br/>
<span>As with her, she leading me by the hand,</span>
<br/>
<span>That first day on the Jersey mountains!</span>
<br/>
<span>And never shall I forget</span>
<br/>
<span>The trembling interest with which I heard</span>
<br/>
<span>Her voice in a low thunder:</span>
<br/>
<span>“You are safe here. Look child, look open-mouth!</span>
<br/>
<span>The patch of road between the steep bramble banks;</span>
<br/>
<span>The tree in the wind, the white house there, the sky!</span>
<br/>
<span>Speak to men of these, concerning me!</span>
<br/>
<span>For never while you permit them to ignore me</span>
<br/>
<span>In these shall the full of my freed voice</span>
<br/>
<span>Come grappling the ear with intent!</span>
<br/>
<span>Never while the air’s clear coolness</span>
<br/>
<span>Is seized to be a coat for pettiness;</span>
<br/>
<span>Never while richness of greenery</span>
<br/>
<span>Stands a shield for prurient minds;</span>
<br/>
<span>Never, permitting these things unchallenged</span>
<br/>
<span>Shall my voice of leaves and varicolored bark come free through!”</span>
<br/>
<span>At which, knowing her solitude,</span>
<br/>
<span>I shouted over the country below me:</span>
<br/>
<span>“Waken! my people, to the boughs green</span>
<br/>
<span>With ripening fruit within you!</span>
<br/>
<span>Waken to the myriad cinquefoil</span>
<br/>
<span>In the waving grass of your minds!</span>
<br/>
<span>Waken to the silent phoebe nest</span>
<br/>
<span>Under the eaves of your spirit!”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But she, stooping nearer the shifting hills</span>
<br/>
<span>Spoke again. “Look there! See them!</span>
<br/>
<span>There in the oat field with the horses,</span>
<br/>
<span>See them there! bowed by their passions</span>
<br/>
<span>Crushed down, that had been raised as a roof beam!</span>
<br/>
<span>The weight of the sky is upon them</span>
<br/>
<span>Under which all roof beams crumble.</span>
<br/>
<span>There is none but the single roof beam:</span>
<br/>
<span>There is no love bears against the great firefly!</span>
<br/>
<span>At this I looked up at the sun</span>
<br/>
<span>Then shouted again with all the might I had.</span>
<br/>
<span>But my voice was a seed in the wind.</span>
<br/>
<span>Then she, the old one, laughing</span>
<br/>
<span>Seized me and whirling about bore back</span>
<br/>
<span>To the city, upward, still laughing</span>
<br/>
<span>Until the great towers stood above the marshland</span>
<br/>
<span>Wheeling beneath: the little creeks, the mallows</span>
<br/>
<span>That I picked as a boy, the Hackensack</span>
<br/>
<span>So quiet that seemed so broad formerly:</span>
<br/>
<span>The crawling trains, the cedar swamp on the one side⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>All so old, so familiar⁠—so new now</span>
<br/>
<span>To my marvelling eyes as we passed</span>
<br/>
<span>Invisible.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="the-wanderer-6" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="title">Soothsay</h3>
<p>
<span>Eight days went by, eight days</span>
<br/>
<span>Comforted by no nights, until finally:</span>
<br/>
<span>“Would you behold yourself old, beloved?”</span>
<br/>
<span>I was pierced, yet I consented gladly</span>
<br/>
<span>For I knew it could not be otherwise.</span>
<br/>
<span>And she⁠—“Behold yourself old!</span>
<br/>
<span>Sustained in strength, wielding might in gript surges!</span>
<br/>
<span>Not bodying the sun in weak leaps</span>
<br/>
<span>But holding way over rockish men</span>
<br/>
<span>With fern free fingers on their little crags,</span>
<br/>
<span>Their hollows, the new Atlas, to bear them</span>
<br/>
<span>For pride and for mockery! Behold</span>
<br/>
<span>Yourself old! winding with slow might⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>A vine among oaks⁠—to the thin tops:</span>
<br/>
<span>Leaving the leafless leaved,</span>
<br/>
<span>Bearing purple clusters! Behold</span>
<br/>
<span>Yourself old! birds are behind you.</span>
<br/>
<span>You are the wind coming that stills birds,</span>
<br/>
<span>Shakes the leaves in booming polyphony⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Slow, winning high way amid the knocking</span>
<br/>
<span>Of boughs, evenly crescendo,</span>
<br/>
<span>The din and bellow of the male wind!</span>
<br/>
<span>Leap then from forest into foam!</span>
<br/>
<span>Lash about from low into high flames</span>
<br/>
<span>Tipping sound, the female chorus⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Linking all lions, all twitterings</span>
<br/>
<span>To make them nothing! Behold yourself old!”</span>
<br/>
<span>As I made to answer she continued,</span>
<br/>
<span>A little wistfully yet in a voice clear cut:</span>
<br/>
<span>“Good is my overlip and evil</span>
<br/>
<span>My underlip to you henceforth:</span>
<br/>
<span>For I have taken your soul between my two hands</span>
<br/>
<span>And this shall be as it is spoken.”</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="the-wanderer-7" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="title"><abbr>St.</abbr> James’ Grove</h3>
<p>
<span>And so it came to that last day</span>
<br/>
<span>When, she leading by the hand, we went out</span>
<br/>
<span>Early in the morning, I heavy of heart</span>
<br/>
<span>For I knew the novitiate was ended</span>
<br/>
<span>The ecstasy was over, the life begun.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>In my woolen shirt and the pale blue necktie</span>
<br/>
<span>My grandmother gave me, there I went</span>
<br/>
<span>With the old queen right past the houses</span>
<br/>
<span>Of my friends down the hill to the river</span>
<br/>
<span>As on any usual day, any errand.</span>
<br/>
<span>Alone, walking under trees,</span>
<br/>
<span>I went with her, she with me in her wild hair,</span>
<br/>
<span>By Santiago Grove and presently</span>
<br/>
<span>She bent forward and knelt by the river,</span>
<br/>
<span>The Passaic, that filthy river.</span>
<br/>
<span>And there dabbling her mad hands,</span>
<br/>
<span>She called me close beside her.</span>
<br/>
<span>Raising the water then in the cupped palm</span>
<br/>
<span>She bathed our brows wailing and laughing:</span>
<br/>
<span>“River, we are old, you and I,</span>
<br/>
<span>We are old and by bad luck, beggars.</span>
<br/>
<span>Lo, the filth in our hair, our bodies stink!</span>
<br/>
<span>Old friend, here I have brought you</span>
<br/>
<span>The young soul you long asked of me.</span>
<br/>
<span>Stand forth, river, and give me</span>
<br/>
<span>The old friend of my revels!</span>
<br/>
<span>Give me the well-worn spirit,</span>
<br/>
<span>For here I have made a room for it,</span>
<br/>
<span>And I will return to you forthwith</span>
<br/>
<span>The youth you have long asked of me:</span>
<br/>
<span>Stand forth, river, and give me</span>
<br/>
<span>The old friend of my revels!”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And the filthy Passaic consented!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Then she, leaping up with a fierce cry:</span>
<br/>
<span>“Enter, youth, into this bulk!</span>
<br/>
<span>Enter, river, into this young man!”</span>
<br/>
<span>Then the river began to enter my heart,</span>
<br/>
<span>Eddying back cool and limpid</span>
<br/>
<span>Into the crystal beginning of its days.</span>
<br/>
<span>But with the rebound it leaped forward:</span>
<br/>
<span>Muddy, then black and shrunken</span>
<br/>
<span>Till I felt the utter depth of its rottenness</span>
<br/>
<span>The vile breadth of its degradation</span>
<br/>
<span>And dropped down knowing this was me now.</span>
<br/>
<span>But she lifted me and the water took a new tide</span>
<br/>
<span>Again into the older experiences,</span>
<br/>
<span>And so, backward and forward,</span>
<br/>
<span>It tortured itself within me</span>
<br/>
<span>Until time had been washed finally under,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the river had found its level</span>
<br/>
<span>And its last motion had ceased</span>
<br/>
<span>And I knew all⁠—it became me.</span>
<br/>
<span>And I knew this for double certain</span>
<br/>
<span>For there, whitely, I saw myself</span>
<br/>
<span>Being borne off under the water!</span>
<br/>
<span>I could have shouted out in my agony</span>
<br/>
<span>At the sight of myself departing</span>
<br/>
<span>Forever⁠—but I bit back my despair</span>
<br/>
<span>For she had averted her eyes</span>
<br/>
<span>By which I knew well what she was thinking⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>And so the last of me was taken.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Then she, “Be mostly silent!”</span>
<br/>
<span>And turning to the river, spoke again:</span>
<br/>
<span>“For him and for me, river, the wandering,</span>
<br/>
<span>But by you I leave for happiness</span>
<br/>
<span>Deep foliage, the thickest beeches⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Though elsewhere they are all dying⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Tallest oaks and yellow birches</span>
<br/>
<span>That dip their leaves in you, mourning,</span>
<br/>
<span>As now I dip my hair, immemorial</span>
<br/>
<span>Of me, immemorial of him</span>
<br/>
<span>Immemorial of these our promises!</span>
<br/>
<span>Here shall be a bird’s paradise,</span>
<br/>
<span>They sing to you remembering my voice:</span>
<br/>
<span>Here the most secluded spaces</span>
<br/>
<span>For miles around, hallowed by a stench</span>
<br/>
<span>To be our joint solitude and temple;</span>
<br/>
<span>In memory of this clear marriage</span>
<br/>
<span>And the child I have brought you in the late years.</span>
<br/>
<span>Live, river, live in luxuriance</span>
<br/>
<span>Remembering this our son,</span>
<br/>
<span>In remembrance of me and my sorrow</span>
<br/>
<span>And of the new wandering!”</span>
</p>
</section>
</article>
<article id="the-late-singer" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">The Late Singer</h2>
<p>
<span>Here it is spring again</span>
<br/>
<span>and I still a young man!</span>
<br/>
<span>I am late at my singing.</span>
<br/>
<span>The sparrow with the black rain on his breast</span>
<br/>
<span>has been at his cadenzas for two weeks past:</span>
<br/>
<span>What is it that is dragging at my heart?</span>
<br/>
<span>The grass by the back door</span>
<br/>
<span>is stiff with sap.</span>
<br/>
<span>The old maples are opening</span>
<br/>
<span>their branches of brown and yellow moth-flowers.</span>
<br/>
<span>A moon hangs in the blue</span>
<br/>
<span>in the early afternoons over the marshes.</span>
<br/>
<span>I am late at my singing.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="march" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">March</h2>
<section id="march-1" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">I</h3>
<p>
<span>Winter is long in this climate</span>
<br/>
<span>and spring⁠—a matter of a few days</span>
<br/>
<span>only⁠—a flower or two picked</span>
<br/>
<span>from mud or from among wet leaves</span>
<br/>
<span>or at best against treacherous</span>
<br/>
<span>bitterness of wind, and sky shining</span>
<br/>
<span>teasingly, then closing in black</span>
<br/>
<span>and sudden, with fierce jaws.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="march-2" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">II</h3>
<p>
<span>March,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">you remind me of</span>
<br/>
<span>the pyramids, our pyramids⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>stript of the polished stone</span>
<br/>
<span>that used to guard them!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i9">March,</span>
<br/>
<span>you are like Fra Angelico</span>
<br/>
<span>at Fiesole, painting on plaster!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>March,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">you are like a band of</span>
<br/>
<span>young poets that have not learned</span>
<br/>
<span>the blessedness of warmth</span>
<br/>
<span>(or have forgotten it).</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>At any rate⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>I am moved to write poetry</span>
<br/>
<span>for the warmth there is in it</span>
<br/>
<span>and for the loneliness⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>a poem that shall have you</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">in it March.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="march-3" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">III</h3>
<p>
<span>See!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Ashur-ban-i-pal,</span>
<br/>
<span>the archer king, on horse-back,</span>
<br/>
<span>in blue and yellow enamel!</span>
<br/>
<span>with drawn bow⁠—facing lions</span>
<br/>
<span>standing on their hind legs,</span>
<br/>
<span>fangs bared! his shafts</span>
<br/>
<span>bristling in their necks!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Sacred bulls⁠—dragons</span>
<br/>
<span>in embossed brickwork</span>
<br/>
<span>marching⁠—in four tiers⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>along the sacred way to</span>
<br/>
<span>Nebuchadnezzar’s throne hall!</span>
<br/>
<span>They shine in the sun,</span>
<br/>
<span>they that have been marching⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>marching under the dust of</span>
<br/>
<span>ten thousand dirt years.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Now⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>they are coming into bloom again!</span>
<br/>
<span>See them!</span>
<br/>
<span>marching still, bared by</span>
<br/>
<span>the storms from my calendar</span>
<br/>
<span>—winds that blow back the sand!</span>
<br/>
<span>winds that enfilade dirt!</span>
<br/>
<span>winds that by strange craft</span>
<br/>
<span>have whipt up a black army</span>
<br/>
<span>that by pick and shovel</span>
<br/>
<span>bare a procession to</span>
<br/>
<span class="i8">the god, Marduk!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Natives cursing and digging</span>
<br/>
<span>for pay unearth dragons with</span>
<br/>
<span>upright tails and sacred bulls</span>
<br/>
<span>alternately⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i7">in four tiers⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>lining the way to an old altar!</span>
<br/>
<span>Natives digging at old walls⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>digging me warmth⁠—digging me</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">sweet loneliness⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>high enamelled walls.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="march-4" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">IV</h3>
<p>
<span>My second spring⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>passed in a monastery</span>
<br/>
<span>with plaster walls⁠—in Fiesole</span>
<br/>
<span>on the hill above Florence.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>My second spring⁠—painted</span>
<br/>
<span>a virgin⁠—in a blue aureole</span>
<br/>
<span>sitting on a three-legged stool,</span>
<br/>
<span>arms crossed⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>she is intently serious,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i8">and still</span>
<br/>
<span>watching an angel</span>
<br/>
<span>with colored wings</span>
<br/>
<span>half kneeling before her⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>and smiling⁠—the angel’s eyes</span>
<br/>
<span>holding the eyes of Mary</span>
<br/>
<span>as a snake’s holds a bird’s.</span>
<br/>
<span>On the ground there are flowers,</span>
<br/>
<span>trees are in leaf.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="march-5" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">V</h3>
<p>
<span>But! now for the battle!</span>
<br/>
<span>Now for murder⁠—now for the real thing!</span>
<br/>
<span>My third springtime is approaching!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Winds!</span>
<br/>
<span>lean, serious as a virgin,</span>
<br/>
<span>seeking, seeking the flowers of March.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Seeking</span>
<br/>
<span>flowers nowhere to be found,</span>
<br/>
<span>they twine among the bare branches</span>
<br/>
<span>in insatiable eagerness⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>they whirl up the snow</span>
<br/>
<span>seeking under it⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>they⁠—the winds⁠—snakelike</span>
<br/>
<span>roar among yellow reeds</span>
<br/>
<span>seeking flowers⁠—flowers.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>I spring among them</span>
<br/>
<span>seeking one flower</span>
<br/>
<span>in which to warm myself!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>I deride with all the ridicule</span>
<br/>
<span>of misery⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>my own starved misery.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Counter-cutting winds</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">strike against me</span>
<br/>
<span>refreshing their fury!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Come, good, cold fellows!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">Have we no flowers?</span>
<br/>
<span>Defy then with even more</span>
<br/>
<span>desperation than ever⁠—being</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">lean and frozen!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But though you are lean and frozen⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>think of the blue bulls of Babylon.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Fling yourselves upon</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">their empty roses⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i7">cut savagely!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>think of the painted monastery</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">at Fiesole.</span>
</p>
</section>
</article>
<article id="berket-and-the-stars" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Berket and the Stars</h2>
<p>
<span>A day on the boulevards chosen out of ten years of</span>
<br/>
<span>student poverty! One best day out of ten good ones.</span>
<br/>
<span>Berket in high spirits⁠—“Ha, oranges! Let’s have one!”</span>
<br/>
<span>And he made to snatch an orange from the vender’s cart.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Now so clever was the deception, so nicely timed</span>
<br/>
<span>to the full sweep of certain wave summits,</span>
<br/>
<span>that the rumor of the thing has come down through</span>
<br/>
<span>three generations⁠—which is relatively forever!</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="a-celebration" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">A Celebration</h2>
<p>
<span>A middle-northern March, now as always⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>gusts from the south broken against cold winds⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>but from under, as if a slow hand lifted a tide,</span>
<br/>
<span>it moves⁠—not into April⁠—into a second March,</span>
<br/>
<span>the old skin of wind-clear scales dropping</span>
<br/>
<span>upon the mould: this is the shadow projects the tree</span>
<br/>
<span>upward causing the sun to shine in his sphere.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>So we will put on our pink felt hat⁠—new last year!</span>
<br/>
<span>—newer this by virtue of brown eyes turning back</span>
<br/>
<span>the seasons⁠—and let us walk to the orchid-house,</span>
<br/>
<span>see the flowers will take the prize to-morrow</span>
<br/>
<span>at the Palace.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i5">Stop here, these are our oleanders.</span>
<br/>
<span>When they are in bloom⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i10">You would waste words</span>
<br/>
<span>It is clearer to me than if the pink</span>
<br/>
<span>were on the branch. It would be a searching in</span>
<br/>
<span>a colored cloud to reveal that which now, huskless,</span>
<br/>
<span>shows the very reason for their being.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And these the orange-trees, in blossom⁠—no need</span>
<br/>
<span>to tell with this weight of perfume in the air.</span>
<br/>
<span>If it were not so dark in this shed one could better</span>
<br/>
<span>see the white.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">It is that very perfume</span>
<br/>
<span>has drawn the darkness down among the leaves.</span>
<br/>
<span>Do I speak clearly enough?</span>
<br/>
<span>It is this darkness reveals that which darkness alone</span>
<br/>
<span>loosens and sets spinning on waxen wings⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>not the touch of a finger-tip, not the motion</span>
<br/>
<span>of a sigh. A too heavy sweetness proves</span>
<br/>
<span>its own caretaker.</span>
<br/>
<span>And here are the orchids!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i10">Never having seen</span>
<br/>
<span>such gaiety I will read these flowers for you:</span>
<br/>
<span>This is an odd January, died⁠—in Villon’s time.</span>
<br/>
<span>Snow, this is and this the stain of a violet</span>
<br/>
<span>grew in that place the spring that foresaw its own doom.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And this, a certain July from Iceland:</span>
<br/>
<span>a young woman of that place</span>
<br/>
<span>breathed it toward the south. It took root there.</span>
<br/>
<span>The color ran true but the plant is small.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>This falling spray of snowflakes is</span>
<br/>
<span>a handful of dead Februarys</span>
<br/>
<span>prayed into flower by Rafael Arevalo Martinez</span>
<br/>
<span>of Guatemala.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i5">Here’s that old friend who</span>
<br/>
<span>went by my side so many years: this full, fragile</span>
<br/>
<span>head of veined lavender. Oh that April</span>
<br/>
<span>that we first went with our stiff lusts</span>
<br/>
<span>leaving the city behind, out to the green hill⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>May, they said she was. A hand for all of us:</span>
<br/>
<span>this branch of blue butterflies tied to this stem.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>June is a yellow cup I’ll not name; August</span>
<br/>
<span>the over-heavy one. And here are⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>russet and shiny, all but March. And March?</span>
<br/>
<span>Ah, March⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i5">Flowers are a tiresome pastime.</span>
<br/>
<span>One has a wish to shake them from their pots</span>
<br/>
<span>root and stem, for the sun to gnaw.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Walk out again into the cold and saunter home</span>
<br/>
<span>to the fire. This day has blossomed long enough.</span>
<br/>
<span>I have wiped out the red night and lit a blaze</span>
<br/>
<span>instead which will at least warm our hands</span>
<br/>
<span>and stir up the talk.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i8">I think we have kept fair time.</span>
<br/>
<span>Time is a green orchid.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="april" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">April</h2>
<p>
<span>If you had come away with me</span>
<br/>
<span>into another state</span>
<br/>
<span>we had been quiet together.</span>
<br/>
<span>But there the sun coming up</span>
<br/>
<span>out of the nothing beyond the lake was</span>
<br/>
<span>too low in the sky,</span>
<br/>
<span>there was too great a pushing</span>
<br/>
<span>against him,</span>
<br/>
<span>too much of sumac buds, pink</span>
<br/>
<span>in the head</span>
<br/>
<span>with the clear gum upon them,</span>
<br/>
<span>too many opening hearts of</span>
<br/>
<span>lilac leaves,</span>
<br/>
<span>too many, too many swollen</span>
<br/>
<span>limp poplar tassels on the</span>
<br/>
<span>bare branches!</span>
<br/>
<span>It was too strong in the air.</span>
<br/>
<span>I had no rest against that</span>
<br/>
<span>springtime!</span>
<br/>
<span>The pounding of the hoofs on the</span>
<br/>
<span>raw sods</span>
<br/>
<span>stayed with me half through the night.</span>
<br/>
<span>I awoke smiling but tired.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="a-goodnight" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">A Goodnight</h2>
<p>
<span>Go to sleep⁠—though of course you will not⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>to tideless waves thundering slantwise against</span>
<br/>
<span>strong embankments, rattle and swish of spray</span>
<br/>
<span>dashed thirty feet high, caught by the lake wind,</span>
<br/>
<span>scattered and strewn broadcast in over the steady</span>
<br/>
<span>car rails! Sleep, sleep! Gulls’ cries in a wind-gust</span>
<br/>
<span>broken by the wind; calculating wings set above</span>
<br/>
<span>the field of waves breaking.</span>
<br/>
<span>Go to sleep to the lunge between foam-crests,</span>
<br/>
<span>refuse churned in the recoil. Food! Food!</span>
<br/>
<span>Offal! Offal! that holds them in the air, wave-white</span>
<br/>
<span>for the one purpose, feather upon feather, the wild</span>
<br/>
<span>chill in their eyes, the hoarseness in their voices⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>sleep, sleep⁠ ⁠…</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Gentlefooted crowds are treading out your lullaby.</span>
<br/>
<span>Their arms nudge, they brush shoulders,</span>
<br/>
<span>hitch this way then that, mass and surge at the crossings⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>lullaby, lullaby! The wild-fowl police whistles,</span>
<br/>
<span>the enraged roar of the traffic, machine shrieks:</span>
<br/>
<span>it is all to put you to sleep,</span>
<br/>
<span>to soften your limbs in relaxed postures,</span>
<br/>
<span>and that your head slip sidewise, and your hair loosen</span>
<br/>
<span>and fall over your eyes and over your mouth,</span>
<br/>
<span>brushing your lips wistfully that you may dream,</span>
<br/>
<span>sleep and dream⁠—</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>A black fungus springs out about lonely church doors⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>sleep, sleep. The Night, coming down upon</span>
<br/>
<span>the wet boulevard, would start you awake with his</span>
<br/>
<span>message, to have in at your window. Pay no</span>
<br/>
<span>heed to him. He storms at your sill with</span>
<br/>
<span>cooings, with gesticulations, curses!</span>
<br/>
<span>You will not let him in. He would keep you from sleeping.</span>
<br/>
<span>He would have you sit under your desk lamp</span>
<br/>
<span>brooding, pondering; he would have you</span>
<br/>
<span>slide out the drawer, take up the ornamented dagger</span>
<br/>
<span>and handle it. It is late, it is nineteen-nineteen⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>go to sleep, his cries are a lullaby;</span>
<br/>
<span>his jabbering is a sleep-well-my-baby; he is</span>
<br/>
<span>a crackbrained messenger.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The maid waking you in the morning</span>
<br/>
<span>when you are up and dressing,</span>
<br/>
<span>the rustle of your clothes as you raise them⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>it is the same tune.</span>
<br/>
<span>At table the cold, greenish, split grapefruit, its juice</span>
<br/>
<span>on the tongue, the clink of the spoon in</span>
<br/>
<span>your coffee, the toast odors say it over and over.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The open street-door lets in the breath of</span>
<br/>
<span>the morning wind from over the lake.</span>
<br/>
<span>The bus coming to a halt grinds from its sullen brakes⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>lullaby, lullaby. The crackle of a newspaper,</span>
<br/>
<span>the movement of the troubled coat beside you⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep⁠ ⁠…</span>
<br/>
<span>It is the sting of snow, the burning liquor of</span>
<br/>
<span>the moonlight, the rush of rain in the gutters packed</span>
<br/>
<span>with dead leaves: go to sleep, go to sleep.</span>
<br/>
<span>And the night passes⁠—and never passes⁠—</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="overture-to-a-dance-of-locomotives" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Overture to a Dance of Locomotives</h2>
<section id="overture-to-a-dance-of-locomotives-1" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">I</h3>
<p>
<span>Men with picked voices chant the names</span>
<br/>
<span>of cities in a huge gallery: promises</span>
<br/>
<span>that pull through descending stairways</span>
<br/>
<span>to a deep rumbling.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i7">The rubbing feet</span>
<br/>
<span>of those coming to be carried quicken a</span>
<br/>
<span>grey pavement into soft light that rocks</span>
<br/>
<span>to and fro, under the domed ceiling,</span>
<br/>
<span>across and across from pale</span>
<br/>
<span>earthcolored walls of bare limestone.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Covertly the hands of a great clock</span>
<br/>
<span>go round and round! Were they to</span>
<br/>
<span>move quickly and at once the whole</span>
<br/>
<span>secret would be out and the shuffling</span>
<br/>
<span>of all ants be done forever.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>A leaning pyramid of sunlight, narrowing</span>
<br/>
<span>out at a high window, moves by the clock:</span>
<br/>
<span>disaccordant hands straining out from</span>
<br/>
<span>a center: inevitable postures infinitely</span>
<br/>
<span>repeated⁠—</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="overture-to-a-dance-of-locomotives-2" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">II</h3>
<p>
<span>Two⁠—twofour⁠—twoeight!</span>
<br/>
<span>Porters in red hats run on narrow platforms.</span>
<br/>
<span>This way ma’m!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">—important not to take</span>
<br/>
<span>the wrong train!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">Lights from the concrete</span>
<br/>
<span>ceiling hang crooked but⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i11">Poised horizontal</span>
<br/>
<span>on glittering parallels the dingy cylinders</span>
<br/>
<span>packed with a warm glow⁠—inviting entry⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>pull against the hour. But brakes can</span>
<br/>
<span>hold a fixed posture till⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i10">The whistle!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Not twoeight. Not twofour. Two!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Gliding windows. Colored cooks sweating</span>
<br/>
<span>in a small kitchen. Taillights⁠—</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>In time: twofour!</span>
<br/>
<span>In time: twoeight!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>—rivers are tunneled: trestles</span>
<br/>
<span>cross oozy swampland: wheels repeating</span>
<br/>
<span>the same gesture remain relatively</span>
<br/>
<span>stationary: rails forever parallel</span>
<br/>
<span>return on themselves infinitely.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i11">The dance is sure.</span>
</p>
</section>
</article>
<article id="romance-moderne" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Romance Moderne</h2>
<p>
<span>Tracks of rain and light linger in</span>
<br/>
<span>the spongy greens of a nature whose</span>
<br/>
<span>flickering mountain⁠—bulging nearer,</span>
<br/>
<span>ebbing back into the sun</span>
<br/>
<span>hollowing itself away to hold a lake⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>or brown stream rising and falling</span>
<br/>
<span>at the roadside, turning about,</span>
<br/>
<span>churning itself white, drawing</span>
<br/>
<span>green in over it⁠—plunging glassy funnels</span>
<br/>
<span>fall⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">And⁠—the other world⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>the windshield a blunt barrier:</span>
<br/>
<span>Talk to me. Sh! they would hear us.</span>
<br/>
<span>—the backs of their heads facing us⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>The stream continues its motion of</span>
<br/>
<span>a hound running over rough ground.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Trees vanish⁠—reappear⁠—vanish:</span>
<br/>
<span>detached dance of gnomes⁠—as a talk</span>
<br/>
<span>dodging remarks, glows and fades.</span>
<br/>
<span>—The unseen power of words⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>And now that a few of the moves</span>
<br/>
<span>are clear the first desire is</span>
<br/>
<span>to fling oneself out at the side into</span>
<br/>
<span>the other dance, to other music.</span>
<br/>
<span>Peer Gynt. Rip Van Winkle. Diana.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>If I were young I would try a new alignment⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>alight nimbly from the car, Good-bye!⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Childhood companions linked two and two</span>
<br/>
<span>criss-cross: four, three, two, one.</span>
<br/>
<span>Back into self, tentacles withdrawn.</span>
<br/>
<span>Feel about in warm self-flesh.</span>
<br/>
<span>Since childhood, since childhood!</span>
<br/>
<span>Childhood is a toad in the garden, a</span>
<br/>
<span>happy toad. All toads are happy</span>
<br/>
<span>and belong in gardens. A toad to Diana!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Lean forward. Punch the steersman</span>
<br/>
<span>behind the ear. Twirl the wheel!</span>
<br/>
<span>Over the edge! Screams! Crash!</span>
<br/>
<span>The end. I sit above my head⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>a little removed⁠—or</span>
<br/>
<span>a thin wash of rain on the roadway</span>
<br/>
<span>—I am never afraid when he is driving⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>interposes new direction,</span>
<br/>
<span>rides us sidewise, unforseen</span>
<br/>
<span>into the ditch! All threads cut!</span>
<br/>
<span>Death! Black. The end. The very end⁠—</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>I would sit separate weighing a</span>
<br/>
<span>small red handful: the dirt of these parts,</span>
<br/>
<span>sliding mists sheeting the alders</span>
<br/>
<span>against the touch of fingers creeping</span>
<br/>
<span>to mine. All stuff of the blind emotions.</span>
<br/>
<span>But⁠—stirred, the eye seizes</span>
<br/>
<span>for the first time⁠—The eye awake!⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>anything, a dirt bank with green stars</span>
<br/>
<span>of scrawny weed flattened upon it under</span>
<br/>
<span>a weight of air⁠—For the first time!⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>or a yawning depth: Big!</span>
<br/>
<span>Swim around in it, through it⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>all directions and find</span>
<br/>
<span>vitreous seawater stuff⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>God how I love you!⁠—or, as I say,</span>
<br/>
<span>a plunge into the ditch. The end. I sit</span>
<br/>
<span>examining my red handful. Balancing</span>
<br/>
<span>—this⁠—in and out⁠—agh.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Love you? It’s</span>
<br/>
<span>a fire in the blood, willy-nilly!</span>
<br/>
<span>It’s the sun coming up in the morning.</span>
<br/>
<span>Ha, but it’s the grey moon too, already up</span>
<br/>
<span>in the morning. You are slow.</span>
<br/>
<span>Men are not friends where it concerns</span>
<br/>
<span>a woman? Fighters. Playfellows.</span>
<br/>
<span>White round thighs! Youth! Sighs⁠—!</span>
<br/>
<span>It’s the fillip of novelty. It’s⁠—</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Mountains. Elephants humping along</span>
<br/>
<span>against the sky⁠—indifferent to</span>
<br/>
<span>light withdrawing its tattered shreds,</span>
<br/>
<span>worn out with embraces. It’s</span>
<br/>
<span>the fillip of novelty. It’s a fire in the blood.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Oh get a flannel shirt, white flannel</span>
<br/>
<span>or pongee. You’d look so well!</span>
<br/>
<span>I married you because I liked your nose.</span>
<br/>
<span>I wanted you! I wanted you</span>
<br/>
<span>in spite of all they’d say⁠—</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Rain and light, mountain and rain,</span>
<br/>
<span>rain and river. Will you love me always?</span>
<br/>
<span>—A car overturned and two crushed bodies</span>
<br/>
<span>under it.⁠—Always! Always!</span>
<br/>
<span>And the white moon already up.</span>
<br/>
<span>White. Clean. All the colors.</span>
<br/>
<span>A good head, backed by the eye⁠—awake!</span>
<br/>
<span>backed by the emotions⁠—blind⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>River and mountain, light and rain⁠—or</span>
<br/>
<span>rain, rock, light, trees⁠—divided:</span>
<br/>
<span>rain-light counter rocks-trees or</span>
<br/>
<span>trees counter rain-light-rocks or⁠—</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Myriads of counter processions</span>
<br/>
<span>crossing and recrossing, regaining</span>
<br/>
<span>the advantage, buying here, selling there</span>
<br/>
<span>—You are sold cheap everywhere in town!⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>lingering, touching fingers, withdrawing</span>
<br/>
<span>gathering forces into blares, hummocks,</span>
<br/>
<span>peaks and rivers⁠—river meeting rock</span>
<br/>
<span>—I wish that you were lying there dead</span>
<br/>
<span>and I sitting here beside you.⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>It’s the grey moon⁠—over and over.</span>
<br/>
<span>It’s the clay of these parts.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="the-desolate-field" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">The Desolate Field</h2>
<p>
<span>Vast and grey, the sky</span>
<br/>
<span>is a simulacrum</span>
<br/>
<span>to all but him whose days</span>
<br/>
<span>are vast and grey, and⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>In the tall, dried grasses</span>
<br/>
<span>a goat stirs</span>
<br/>
<span>with nozzle searching the ground.</span>
<br/>
<span>—my head is in the air</span>
<br/>
<span>but who am I⁠ ⁠… ?</span>
<br/>
<span>And amazed my heart leaps</span>
<br/>
<span>at the thought of love</span>
<br/>
<span>vast and grey</span>
<br/>
<span>yearning silently over me.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="willow-poem" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Willow Poem</h2>
<p>
<span>It is a willow when summer is over,</span>
<br/>
<span>a willow by the river</span>
<br/>
<span>from which no leaf has fallen nor</span>
<br/>
<span>bitten by the sun</span>
<br/>
<span>turned orange or crimson.</span>
<br/>
<span>The leaves cling and grow paler,</span>
<br/>
<span>swing and grow paler</span>
<br/>
<span>over the swirling waters of the river</span>
<br/>
<span>as if loath to let go,</span>
<br/>
<span>they are so cool, so drunk with</span>
<br/>
<span>the swirl of the wind and of the river⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>oblivious to winter,</span>
<br/>
<span>the last to let go and fall</span>
<br/>
<span>into the water and on the ground.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="approach-of-winter" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Approach of Winter</h2>
<p>
<span>The half stripped trees</span>
<br/>
<span>struck by a wind together,</span>
<br/>
<span>bending all,</span>
<br/>
<span>the leaves flutter drily</span>
<br/>
<span>and refuse to let go</span>
<br/>
<span>or driven like hail</span>
<br/>
<span>stream bitterly out to one side</span>
<br/>
<span>and fall</span>
<br/>
<span>where the salvias, hard carmine,⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>like no leaf that ever was⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>edge the bare garden.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="january" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">January</h2>
<p>
<span>Again I reply to the triple winds</span>
<br/>
<span>running chromatic fifths of derision</span>
<br/>
<span>outside my window:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i8">Play louder.</span>
<br/>
<span>You will not succeed. I am</span>
<br/>
<span>bound more to my sentences</span>
<br/>
<span>the more you batter at me</span>
<br/>
<span>to follow you.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">And the wind,</span>
<br/>
<span>as before, fingers perfectly</span>
<br/>
<span>its derisive music.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="blizzard" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Blizzard</h2>
<p>
<span>Snow:</span>
<br/>
<span>years of anger following</span>
<br/>
<span>hours that float idly down⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>the blizzard</span>
<br/>
<span>drifts its weight</span>
<br/>
<span>deeper and deeper for three days</span>
<br/>
<span>or sixty years, eh? Then</span>
<br/>
<span>the sun! a clutter of</span>
<br/>
<span>yellow and blue flakes⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Hairy looking trees stand out</span>
<br/>
<span>in long alleys</span>
<br/>
<span>over a wild solitude.</span>
<br/>
<span>The man turns and there⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>his solitary track stretched out</span>
<br/>
<span>upon the world.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="to-waken-an-old-lady" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">To Waken an Old Lady</h2>
<p>
<span>Old age is</span>
<br/>
<span>a flight of small</span>
<br/>
<span>cheeping birds</span>
<br/>
<span>skimming</span>
<br/>
<span>bare trees</span>
<br/>
<span>above a snow glaze.</span>
<br/>
<span>Gaining and failing</span>
<br/>
<span>they are buffetted</span>
<br/>
<span>by a dark wind⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>But what?</span>
<br/>
<span>On harsh weedstalks</span>
<br/>
<span>the flock has rested,</span>
<br/>
<span>the snow</span>
<br/>
<span>is covered with broken</span>
<br/>
<span>seedhusks</span>
<br/>
<span>and the wind tempered</span>
<br/>
<span>by a shrill</span>
<br/>
<span>piping of plenty.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="winter-trees" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Winter Trees</h2>
<p>
<span>All the complicated details</span>
<br/>
<span>of the attiring and</span>
<br/>
<span>the disattiring are completed!</span>
<br/>
<span>A liquid moon</span>
<br/>
<span>moves gently among</span>
<br/>
<span>the long branches.</span>
<br/>
<span>Thus having prepared their buds</span>
<br/>
<span>against a sure winter</span>
<br/>
<span>the wise trees</span>
<br/>
<span>stand sleeping in the cold.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="complaint" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Complaint</h2>
<p>
<span>They call me and I go</span>
<br/>
<span>It is a frozen road</span>
<br/>
<span>past midnight, a dust</span>
<br/>
<span>of snow caught</span>
<br/>
<span>in the rigid wheeltracks.</span>
<br/>
<span>The door opens.</span>
<br/>
<span>I smile, enter and</span>
<br/>
<span>shake off the cold.</span>
<br/>
<span>Here is a great woman</span>
<br/>
<span>on her side in the bed.</span>
<br/>
<span>She is sick,</span>
<br/>
<span>perhaps vomiting,</span>
<br/>
<span>perhaps laboring</span>
<br/>
<span>to give birth to</span>
<br/>
<span>a tenth child. Joy! Joy!</span>
<br/>
<span>Night is a room</span>
<br/>
<span>darkened for lovers,</span>
<br/>
<span>through the jalousies the sun</span>
<br/>
<span>has sent one gold needle!</span>
<br/>
<span>I pick the hair from her eyes</span>
<br/>
<span>and watch her misery</span>
<br/>
<span>with compassion.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="the-cold-night" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">The Cold Night</h2>
<p>
<span>It is cold. The white moon</span>
<br/>
<span>is up among her scattered stars⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>like the bare thighs of</span>
<br/>
<span>the Police Sergeant’s wife⁠—among</span>
<br/>
<span>her five children⁠ ⁠…</span>
<br/>
<span>No answer. Pale shadows lie upon</span>
<br/>
<span>the frosted grass. One answer:</span>
<br/>
<span>It is midnight, it is still</span>
<br/>
<span>and it is cold⁠ ⁠… !</span>
<br/>
<span>White thighs of the sky! a</span>
<br/>
<span>new answer out of the depths of</span>
<br/>
<span>my male belly: In April⁠ ⁠…</span>
<br/>
<span>In April I shall see again⁠—In April!</span>
<br/>
<span>the round and perfect thighs</span>
<br/>
<span>of the Police Sergeant’s wife</span>
<br/>
<span>perfect still after many babies.</span>
<br/>
<span>Oya!</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="spring-storm" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Spring Storm</h2>
<p>
<span>The sky has given over</span>
<br/>
<span>its bitterness.</span>
<br/>
<span>Out of the dark change</span>
<br/>
<span>all day long</span>
<br/>
<span>rain falls and falls</span>
<br/>
<span>as if it would never end.</span>
<br/>
<span>Still the snow keeps</span>
<br/>
<span>its hold on the ground.</span>
<br/>
<span>But water, water</span>
<br/>
<span>from a thousand runnels!</span>
<br/>
<span>It collects swiftly,</span>
<br/>
<span>dappled with black</span>
<br/>
<span>cuts a way for itself</span>
<br/>
<span>through green ice in the gutters.</span>
<br/>
<span>Drop after drop it falls</span>
<br/>
<span>from the withered grass-stems</span>
<br/>
<span>of the overhanging embankment.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="the-delicacies" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">The Delicacies</h2>
<p>
<span>The hostess, in pink satin and blond hair⁠—dressed</span>
<br/>
<span>high⁠—shone beautifully in her white slippers against</span>
<br/>
<span>the great silent bald head of her little-eyed husband!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Raising a glass of yellow Rhine wine in the narrow</span>
<br/>
<span>space just beyond the light-varnished woodwork and</span>
<br/>
<span>the decorative column between dining-room and hall,</span>
<br/>
<span>she smiled the smile of water tumbling from one ledge</span>
<br/>
<span>to another.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>We began with a herring salad: delicately flavoured</span>
<br/>
<span>saltiness in scallops of lettuce-leaves.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">The little owl-eyed and thick-set lady with masses</span>
<br/>
<span>of grey hair has smooth pink cheeks without a wrinkle.</span>
<br/>
<span>She cannot be the daughter of the little red-faced</span>
<br/>
<span>fellow dancing about inviting lion-headed Wolff the</span>
<br/>
<span>druggist to play the piano! But she is. Wolff is a</span>
<br/>
<span>terrific smoker: if the telephone goes off at night⁠—so</span>
<br/>
<span>his curled-haired wife whispers⁠—he rises from bed but</span>
<br/>
<span>cannot answer till he has lighted a cigarette.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">Sherry wine in little conical glasses, dull brownish</span>
<br/>
<span>yellow, and tomatoes stuffed with finely cut chicken</span>
<br/>
<span>and mayonnaise!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">The tall Irishman in a Prince Albert and the usual</span>
<br/>
<span>striped trousers is going to sing for us. (The piano</span>
<br/>
<span>is in a little alcove with dark curtains.) The hostess’s</span>
<br/>
<span>sister⁠—ten years younger than she⁠—in black net and</span>
<br/>
<span>velvet, has hair like some filmy haystack, cloudy about</span>
<br/>
<span>the eyes. She will play for her husband.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">My wife is young, yes she is young and pretty when</span>
<br/>
<span>she cares to be⁠—when she is interested in a discussion:</span>
<br/>
<span>it is the little dancing mayor’s wife telling her of the</span>
<br/>
<span>Day nursery in East Rutherford, ’cross the track,</span>
<br/>
<span>divided from us by the railroad⁠—and disputes as to</span>
<br/>
<span>precedence. It is in this town the saloon flourishes,</span>
<br/>
<span>the saloon of my friend on the right whose wife has</span>
<br/>
<span>twice offended with chance words. Her English is</span>
<br/>
<span>atrocious! It is in this town that the saloon is situated,</span>
<br/>
<span>close to the railroad track, close as may be, this side</span>
<br/>
<span>being dry, dry, dry: two people listening on opposite</span>
<br/>
<span>sides of a wall!⁠—The Day Nursery had sixty-five</span>
<br/>
<span>babies the week before last, so my wife’s eyes shine</span>
<br/>
<span>and her cheeks are pink and I cannot see a blemish.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">Ice-cream in the shape of flowers and domestic</span>
<br/>
<span>objects: a pipe for me since I do not smoke, a doll</span>
<br/>
<span>for you.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">The figure of some great bulk of a woman disappearing</span>
<br/>
<span>into the kitchen with a quick look over the</span>
<br/>
<span>shoulder. My friend on the left who has spent the</span>
<br/>
<span>whole day in a car the like of which some old fellow</span>
<br/>
<span>would give to an actress: flower-holders, mirrors,</span>
<br/>
<span>curtains, plush seats⁠—my friend on the left who is</span>
<br/>
<span>chairman of the Streets committee of the town council</span>
<br/>
<span>—and who has spent the whole day studying automobile</span>
<br/>
<span>fire-engines in neighbouring towns in view of</span>
<br/>
<span>purchase⁠—my friend, at the Elks last week at the</span>
<br/>
<span>breaking-up hymn, signalled for them to let Bill⁠—a</span>
<br/>
<span>familiar friend of the saloon-keeper⁠—sing out all alone</span>
<br/>
<span>to the organ⁠—and he did sing!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">Salz-rolls, exquisite! and Rhine wine <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">ad libitum</i>.</span>
<br/>
<span>A masterly caviare sandwich.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">The children flitting about above stairs. The</span>
<br/>
<span>councilman has just bought a National eight⁠—some</span>
<br/>
<span>car!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">For heaven’s sake I mustn’t forget the halves of</span>
<br/>
<span>green peppers stuffed with cream cheese and whole</span>
<br/>
<span>walnuts!</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="thursday" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Thursday</h2>
<p>
<span>I have had my dream⁠—like others⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>and it has come to nothing, so that</span>
<br/>
<span>I remain now carelessly</span>
<br/>
<span>with feet planted on the ground</span>
<br/>
<span>and look up at the sky⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>feeling my clothes about me,</span>
<br/>
<span>the weight of my body in my shoes,</span>
<br/>
<span>the rim of my hat, air passing in and out</span>
<br/>
<span>at my nose⁠—and decide to dream no more.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="the-dark-day" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">The Dark Day</h2>
<p>
<span>A three-day-long rain from the east⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>an interminable talking, talking</span>
<br/>
<span>of no consequence⁠—patter, patter, patter.</span>
<br/>
<span>Hand in hand little winds</span>
<br/>
<span>blow the thin streams aslant.</span>
<br/>
<span>Warm. Distance cut off. Seclusion.</span>
<br/>
<span>A few passers-by, drawn in upon themselves,</span>
<br/>
<span>hurry from one place to another.</span>
<br/>
<span>Winds of the white poppy! there is no escape!⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>An interminable talking, talking,</span>
<br/>
<span>talking⁠ ⁠… it has happened before.</span>
<br/>
<span>Backward, backward, backward.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="time-the-hangman" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Time the Hangman</h2>
<p>
<span>Poor old Abner, old white-haired nigger!</span>
<br/>
<span>I remember when you were so strong</span>
<br/>
<span>you hung yourself by a rope round the neck</span>
<br/>
<span>in Doc Hollister’s barn to prove you could beat</span>
<br/>
<span>the faker in the circus⁠—and it didn’t kill you.</span>
<br/>
<span>Now your face is in your hands, and your elbows</span>
<br/>
<span>are on your knees, and you are silent and broken.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="to-a-friend" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">To a Friend</h2>
<p>
<span>Well, Lizzie Anderson! seventeen men⁠—and</span>
<br/>
<span>the baby hard to find a father for!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>What will the good Father in Heaven say</span>
<br/>
<span>to the local judge if he do not solve this problem?</span>
<br/>
<span>A little two pointed smile and⁠—pouff!⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>the law is changed into a mouthful of phrases.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="the-gentle-man" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">The Gentle Man</h2>
<p>
<span>I feel the caress of my own fingers</span>
<br/>
<span>on my own neck as I place my collar</span>
<br/>
<span>and think pityingly</span>
<br/>
<span>of the kind women I have known.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="the-soughing-wind" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">The Soughing Wind</h2>
<p>
<span>Some leaves hang late, some fall</span>
<br/>
<span>before the first frost⁠—so goes</span>
<br/>
<span>the tale of winter branches and old bones.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="spring" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Spring</h2>
<p>
<span>O my grey hairs!</span>
<br/>
<span>You are truly white as plum blossoms.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="play" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Play</h2>
<p>
<span>Subtle, clever brain, wiser than I am,</span>
<br/>
<span>by what devious means do you contrive</span>
<br/>
<span>to remain idle? Teach me, O master.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="lines" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Lines</h2>
<p>
<span>Leaves are greygreen,</span>
<br/>
<span>the glass broken, bright green.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="the-poor" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">The Poor</h2>
<p>
<span>By constantly tormenting them</span>
<br/>
<span>with reminders of the lice in</span>
<br/>
<span>their children’s hair, the</span>
<br/>
<span>School Physician first</span>
<br/>
<span>brought their hatred down on him,</span>
<br/>
<span>But by this familiarity</span>
<br/>
<span>they grew used to him, and so,</span>
<br/>
<span>at last,</span>
<br/>
<span>took him for their friend and adviser.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="complete-destruction" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Complete Destruction</h2>
<p>
<span>It was an icy day.</span>
<br/>
<span>We buried the cat,</span>
<br/>
<span>then took her box</span>
<br/>
<span>and set fire to it</span>
<br/>
<span>in the back yard.</span>
<br/>
<span>Those fleas that escaped</span>
<br/>
<span>earth and fire</span>
<br/>
<span>died by the cold.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="memory-of-april" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Memory of April</h2>
<p>
<span>You say love is this, love is that:</span>
<br/>
<span>Poplar tassels, willow tendrils</span>
<br/>
<span>the wind and the rain comb,</span>
<br/>
<span>tinkle and drip, tinkle and drip⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>branches drifting apart. Hagh!</span>
<br/>
<span>Love has not even visited this country.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="epitaph" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Epitaph</h2>
<p>
<span>An old willow with hollow branches</span>
<br/>
<span>slowly swayed his few high bright tendrils</span>
<br/>
<span>and sang:</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Love is a young green willow</span>
<br/>
<span>shimmering at the bare wood’s edge.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="daisy" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Daisy</h2>
<p>
<span>The dayseye hugging the earth</span>
<br/>
<span>in August, ha! Spring is</span>
<br/>
<span>gone down in purple,</span>
<br/>
<span>weeds stand high in the corn,</span>
<br/>
<span>the rainbeaten furrow</span>
<br/>
<span>is clotted with sorrel</span>
<br/>
<span>and crabgrass, the</span>
<br/>
<span>branch is black under</span>
<br/>
<span>the heavy mass of the leaves⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>The sun is upon a</span>
<br/>
<span>slender green stem</span>
<br/>
<span>ribbed lengthwise.</span>
<br/>
<span>He lies on his back⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>it is a woman also⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>he regards his former</span>
<br/>
<span>majesty and</span>
<br/>
<span>round the yellow center,</span>
<br/>
<span>split and creviced and done into</span>
<br/>
<span>minute flowerheads, he sends out</span>
<br/>
<span>his twenty rays⁠—a little</span>
<br/>
<span>and the wind is among them</span>
<br/>
<span>to grow cool there!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>One turns the thing over</span>
<br/>
<span>in his hand and looks</span>
<br/>
<span>at it from the rear: brownedged,</span>
<br/>
<span>green and pointed scales</span>
<br/>
<span>armor his yellow.</span>
<br/>
<span>But turn and turn,</span>
<br/>
<span>the crisp petals remain</span>
<br/>
<span>brief, translucent, greenfastened,</span>
<br/>
<span>barely touching at the edges:</span>
<br/>
<span>blades of limpid seashell.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="primrose" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Primrose</h2>
<p>
<span>Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow!</span>
<br/>
<span>It is not a color.</span>
<br/>
<span>It is summer!</span>
<br/>
<span>It is the wind on a willow,</span>
<br/>
<span>the lap of waves, the shadow</span>
<br/>
<span>under a bush, a bird, a bluebird,</span>
<br/>
<span>three herons, a dead hawk</span>
<br/>
<span>rotting on a pole⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Clear yellow!</span>
<br/>
<span>It is a piece of blue paper</span>
<br/>
<span>in the grass or a threecluster of</span>
<br/>
<span>green walnuts swaying, children</span>
<br/>
<span>playing croquet or one boy</span>
<br/>
<span>fishing, a man</span>
<br/>
<span>swinging his pink fists</span>
<br/>
<span>as he walks⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>It is ladysthumb, forgetmenots</span>
<br/>
<span>in the ditch, moss under</span>
<br/>
<span>the flange of the carrail, the</span>
<br/>
<span>wavy lines in split rock, a</span>
<br/>
<span>great oaktree⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>It is a disinclination to be</span>
<br/>
<span>five red petals or a rose, it is</span>
<br/>
<span>a cluster of birdsbreast flowers</span>
<br/>
<span>on a red stem six feet high,</span>
<br/>
<span>four open yellow petals</span>
<br/>
<span>above sepals curled</span>
<br/>
<span>backward into reverse spikes⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Tufts of purple grass spot the</span>
<br/>
<span>green meadow and clouds the sky.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="queen-ann’s-lace" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Queen-Ann’s-Lace</h2>
<p>
<span>Her body is not so white as</span>
<br/>
<span>anemony petals nor so smooth⁠—nor</span>
<br/>
<span>so remote a thing. It is a field</span>
<br/>
<span>of the wild carrot taking</span>
<br/>
<span>the field by force; the grass</span>
<br/>
<span>does not raise above it.</span>
<br/>
<span>Here is no question of whiteness,</span>
<br/>
<span>white as can be, with a purple mole</span>
<br/>
<span>at the center of each flower.</span>
<br/>
<span>Each flower is a hand’s span</span>
<br/>
<span>of her whiteness. Wherever</span>
<br/>
<span>his hand has lain there is</span>
<br/>
<span>a tiny purple blemish. Each part</span>
<br/>
<span>is a blossom under his touch</span>
<br/>
<span>to which the fibres of her being</span>
<br/>
<span>stem one by one, each to its end,</span>
<br/>
<span>until the whole field is a</span>
<br/>
<span>white desire, empty, a single stem,</span>
<br/>
<span>a cluster, flower by flower,</span>
<br/>
<span>a pious wish to whiteness gone over⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>or nothing.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="great-mullen" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Great Mullen</h2>
<p>
<span>One leaves his leaves at home</span>
<br/>
<span>being a mullen and sends up a lighthouse</span>
<br/>
<span>to peer from: I will have my way,</span>
<br/>
<span>yellow⁠—A mast with a lantern, ten</span>
<br/>
<span>fifty, a hundred, smaller and smaller</span>
<br/>
<span>as they grow more⁠—Liar, liar, liar!</span>
<br/>
<span>You come from her! I can smell djer-kiss</span>
<br/>
<span>on your clothes. Ha, ha! you come to me,</span>
<br/>
<span>you⁠—I am a point of dew on a grass-stem.</span>
<br/>
<span>Why are you sending heat down on me</span>
<br/>
<span>from your lantern?⁠—You are cowdung, a</span>
<br/>
<span>dead stick with the bark off. She is</span>
<br/>
<span>squirting on us both. She has had her</span>
<br/>
<span>hand on you!⁠—Well?⁠—She has defiled</span>
<br/>
<span><b>Me.</b>⁠—Your leaves are dull, thick</span>
<br/>
<span>and hairy.⁠—Every hair on my body will</span>
<br/>
<span>hold you off from me. You are a</span>
<br/>
<span>dungcake, birdlime on a fencerail.⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>I love you, straight, yellow</span>
<br/>
<span>finger of God pointing to⁠—her!</span>
<br/>
<span>Liar, broken weed, duncake, you have⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>I am a cricket waving his antenae</span>
<br/>
<span>and you are high, grey and straight. Ha!</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="waiting" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Waiting</h2>
<p>
<span>When I am alone I am happy.</span>
<br/>
<span>The air is cool. The sky is</span>
<br/>
<span>flecked and splashed and wound</span>
<br/>
<span>with color. The crimson phalloi</span>
<br/>
<span>of the sassafrass leaves</span>
<br/>
<span>hang crowded before me</span>
<br/>
<span>in shoals on the heavy branches.</span>
<br/>
<span>When I reach my doorstep</span>
<br/>
<span>I am greeted by</span>
<br/>
<span>the happy shrieks of my children</span>
<br/>
<span>and my heart sinks.</span>
<br/>
<span>I am crushed.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Are not my children as dear to me</span>
<br/>
<span>as falling leaves or</span>
<br/>
<span>must one become stupid</span>
<br/>
<span>to grow older?</span>
<br/>
<span>It seems much as if Sorrow</span>
<br/>
<span>had tripped up my heels.</span>
<br/>
<span>Let us see, let us see!</span>
<br/>
<span>What did I plan to say to her</span>
<br/>
<span>when it should happen to me</span>
<br/>
<span>as it has happened now?</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="the-hunter" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">The Hunter</h2>
<p>
<span>In the flashes and black shadows</span>
<br/>
<span>of July</span>
<br/>
<span>the days, locked in each other’s arms,</span>
<br/>
<span>seem still</span>
<br/>
<span>so that squirrels and colored birds</span>
<br/>
<span>go about at ease over</span>
<br/>
<span>the branches and through the air.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Where will a shoulder split or</span>
<br/>
<span>a forehead open and victory be?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Nowhere.</span>
<br/>
<span>Both sides grow older.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And you may be sure</span>
<br/>
<span>not one leaf will lift itself</span>
<br/>
<span>from the ground</span>
<br/>
<span>and become fast to a twig again.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="arrival" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Arrival</h2>
<p>
<span>And yet one arrives somehow,</span>
<br/>
<span>finds himself loosening the hooks of</span>
<br/>
<span>her dress</span>
<br/>
<span>in a strange bedroom⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>feels the autumn</span>
<br/>
<span>dropping its silk and linen leaves</span>
<br/>
<span>about her ankles.</span>
<br/>
<span>The tawdry veined body emerges</span>
<br/>
<span>twisted upon itself</span>
<br/>
<span>like a winter wind⁠ ⁠… !</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="to-a-friend-concerning-several-ladies" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">To a Friend Concerning Several Ladies</h2>
<p>
<span>You know there is not much</span>
<br/>
<span>that I desire, a few crysanthemums</span>
<br/>
<span>half lying on the grass, yellow</span>
<br/>
<span>and brown and white, the</span>
<br/>
<span>talk of a few people, the trees,</span>
<br/>
<span>an expanse of dried leaves perhaps</span>
<br/>
<span>with ditches among them.</span>
<br/>
<span>But there comes</span>
<br/>
<span>between me and these things</span>
<br/>
<span>a letter</span>
<br/>
<span>or even a look⁠—well placed,</span>
<br/>
<span>you understand,</span>
<br/>
<span>so that I am confused, twisted</span>
<br/>
<span>four ways and⁠—left flat,</span>
<br/>
<span>unable to lift the food to</span>
<br/>
<span>my own mouth:</span>
<br/>
<span>Here is what they say: Come!</span>
<br/>
<span>and come! and come! And if</span>
<br/>
<span>I do not go I remain stale to</span>
<br/>
<span>myself and if I go⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i8">I have watched</span>
<br/>
<span>the city from a distance at night</span>
<br/>
<span>and wondered why I wrote no poem.</span>
<br/>
<span>Come! yes,</span>
<br/>
<span>the city is ablaze for you</span>
<br/>
<span>and you stand and look at it.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And they are right. There is</span>
<br/>
<span>no good in the world except out of</span>
<br/>
<span>a woman and certain women alone</span>
<br/>
<span>for certain things. But what if</span>
<br/>
<span>I arrive like a turtle</span>
<br/>
<span>with my house on my back or</span>
<br/>
<span>a fish ogling from under water?</span>
<br/>
<span>It will not do. I must be</span>
<br/>
<span>steaming with love, colored</span>
<br/>
<span>like a flamingo. For what?</span>
<br/>
<span>To have legs and a silly head</span>
<br/>
<span>and to smell, pah! like a flamingo</span>
<br/>
<span>that soils its own feathers behind.</span>
<br/>
<span>Must I go home filled</span>
<br/>
<span>with a bad poem?</span>
<br/>
<span>And they say:</span>
<br/>
<span>Who can answer these things</span>
<br/>
<span>till he has tried? Your eyes</span>
<br/>
<span>are half closed, you are a child,</span>
<br/>
<span>oh, a sweet one, ready to play</span>
<br/>
<span>but I will make a man of you and</span>
<br/>
<span>with love on his shoulder⁠—!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And in the marshes</span>
<br/>
<span>the crickets run</span>
<br/>
<span>on the sunny dike’s top and</span>
<br/>
<span>make burrows there, the water</span>
<br/>
<span>reflects the reeds and the reeds</span>
<br/>
<span>move on their stalks and rattle drily.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="youth-and-beauty" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Youth and Beauty</h2>
<p>
<span>I bought a dishmop⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>having no daughter⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>for they had twisted</span>
<br/>
<span>fine ribbons of shining copper</span>
<br/>
<span>about white twine</span>
<br/>
<span>and made a tousled head</span>
<br/>
<span>of it, fastened it</span>
<br/>
<span>upon a turned ash stick</span>
<br/>
<span>slender at the neck</span>
<br/>
<span>straight, tall⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>when tied upright</span>
<br/>
<span>on the brass wallbracket</span>
<br/>
<span>to be a light for me⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>and naked,</span>
<br/>
<span>as a girl should seem</span>
<br/>
<span>to her father.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="the-thinker" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">The Thinker</h2>
<p>
<span>My wife’s new pink slippers</span>
<br/>
<span>have gay pom-poms.</span>
<br/>
<span>There is not a spot or a stain</span>
<br/>
<span>on their satin toes or their sides.</span>
<br/>
<span>All night they lie together</span>
<br/>
<span>under her bed’s edge.</span>
<br/>
<span>Shivering I catch sight of them</span>
<br/>
<span>and smile, in the morning.</span>
<br/>
<span>Later I watch them</span>
<br/>
<span>descending the stair,</span>
<br/>
<span>hurrying through the doors</span>
<br/>
<span>and round the table,</span>
<br/>
<span>moving stiffly</span>
<br/>
<span>with a shake of their gay pom-poms!</span>
<br/>
<span>And I talk to them</span>
<br/>
<span>in my secret mind</span>
<br/>
<span>out of pure happiness.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="the-disputants" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">The Disputants</h2>
<p>
<span>Upon the table in their bowl</span>
<br/>
<span>in violent disarray</span>
<br/>
<span>of yellow sprays, green spikes</span>
<br/>
<span>of leaves, red pointed petals</span>
<br/>
<span>and curled heads of blue</span>
<br/>
<span>and white among the litter</span>
<br/>
<span>of the forks and crumbs and plates</span>
<br/>
<span>the flowers remain composed.</span>
<br/>
<span>Cooly their colloquy continues</span>
<br/>
<span>above the coffee and loud talk</span>
<br/>
<span>grown frail as vaudeville.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="the-tulip-bed" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">The Tulip Bed</h2>
<p>
<span>The May sun⁠—whom</span>
<br/>
<span>all things imitate⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>that glues small leaves to</span>
<br/>
<span>the wooden trees</span>
<br/>
<span>shone from the sky</span>
<br/>
<span>through bluegauze clouds</span>
<br/>
<span>upon the ground.</span>
<br/>
<span>Under the leafy trees</span>
<br/>
<span>where the suburban streets</span>
<br/>
<span>lay crossed,</span>
<br/>
<span>with houses on each corner,</span>
<br/>
<span>tangled shadows had begun</span>
<br/>
<span>to join</span>
<br/>
<span>the roadway and the lawns.</span>
<br/>
<span>With excellent precision</span>
<br/>
<span>the tulip bed</span>
<br/>
<span>inside the iron fence</span>
<br/>
<span>upreared its gaudy</span>
<br/>
<span>yellow, white and red,</span>
<br/>
<span>rimmed round with grass,</span>
<br/>
<span>reposedly.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="the-birds" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">The Birds</h2>
<p>
<span>The world begins again!</span>
<br/>
<span>Not wholly insufflated</span>
<br/>
<span>the blackbirds in the rain</span>
<br/>
<span>upon the dead topbranches</span>
<br/>
<span>of the living tree,</span>
<br/>
<span>stuck fast to the low clouds,</span>
<br/>
<span>notate the dawn.</span>
<br/>
<span>Their shrill cries sound</span>
<br/>
<span>announcing appetite</span>
<br/>
<span>and drop among the bending roses</span>
<br/>
<span>and the dripping grass.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="the-nightingales" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">The Nightingales</h2>
<p>
<span>My shoes as I lean</span>
<br/>
<span>unlacing them</span>
<br/>
<span>stand out upon</span>
<br/>
<span>flat worsted flowers</span>
<br/>
<span>under my feet.</span>
<br/>
<span>Nimbly the shadows</span>
<br/>
<span>of my fingers play</span>
<br/>
<span>unlacing</span>
<br/>
<span>over shoes and flowers.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="spouts" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Spouts</h2>
<p>
<span>In this world of</span>
<br/>
<span>as fine a pair of breasts</span>
<br/>
<span>as ever I saw</span>
<br/>
<span>the fountain in</span>
<br/>
<span>Madison Square</span>
<br/>
<span>spouts up of water</span>
<br/>
<span>a white tree</span>
<br/>
<span>that dies and lives</span>
<br/>
<span>as the rocking water</span>
<br/>
<span>in the basin</span>
<br/>
<span>turns from the stonerim</span>
<br/>
<span>back upon the jet</span>
<br/>
<span>and rising there</span>
<br/>
<span>reflectively drops down again.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="blueflags" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Blueflags</h2>
<p>
<span>I stopped the car</span>
<br/>
<span>to let the children down</span>
<br/>
<span>where the streets end</span>
<br/>
<span>in the sun</span>
<br/>
<span>at the marsh edge</span>
<br/>
<span>and the reeds begin</span>
<br/>
<span>and there are small houses</span>
<br/>
<span>facing the reeds</span>
<br/>
<span>and the blue mist</span>
<br/>
<span>in the distance</span>
<br/>
<span>with grapevine trellises</span>
<br/>
<span>with grape clusters</span>
<br/>
<span>small as strawberries</span>
<br/>
<span>on the vines</span>
<br/>
<span>and ditches</span>
<br/>
<span>running springwater</span>
<br/>
<span>that continue the gutters</span>
<br/>
<span>with willows over them.</span>
<br/>
<span>The reeds begin</span>
<br/>
<span>like water at a shore</span>
<br/>
<span>their pointed petals waving</span>
<br/>
<span>dark green and light.</span>
<br/>
<span>But blueflags are blossoming</span>
<br/>
<span>in the reeds</span>
<br/>
<span>which the children pluck</span>
<br/>
<span>chattering in the reeds</span>
<br/>
<span>high over their heads</span>
<br/>
<span>which they part</span>
<br/>
<span>with bare arms to appear</span>
<br/>
<span>with fists of flowers</span>
<br/>
<span>till in the air</span>
<br/>
<span>there comes the smell</span>
<br/>
<span>of calamus</span>
<br/>
<span>from wet, gummy stalks.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="the-widows-lament-in-springtime" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">The Widow’s Lament in Springtime</h2>
<p>
<span>Sorrow is my own yard</span>
<br/>
<span>where the new grass</span>
<br/>
<span>flames as it has flamed</span>
<br/>
<span>often before but not</span>
<br/>
<span>with the cold fire</span>
<br/>
<span>that closes round me this year.</span>
<br/>
<span>Thirtyfive years</span>
<br/>
<span>I lived with my husband.</span>
<br/>
<span>The plumtree is white today</span>
<br/>
<span>with masses of flowers.</span>
<br/>
<span>Masses of flowers</span>
<br/>
<span>load the cherry branches</span>
<br/>
<span>and color some bushes</span>
<br/>
<span>yellow and some red</span>
<br/>
<span>but the grief in my heart</span>
<br/>
<span>is stronger than they</span>
<br/>
<span>for though they were my joy</span>
<br/>
<span>formerly, today I notice them</span>
<br/>
<span>and turn away forgetting.</span>
<br/>
<span>Today my son told me</span>
<br/>
<span>that in the meadows,</span>
<br/>
<span>at the edge of the heavy woods</span>
<br/>
<span>in the distance, he saw</span>
<br/>
<span>trees of white flowers.</span>
<br/>
<span>I feel that I would like</span>
<br/>
<span>to go there</span>
<br/>
<span>and fall into those flowers</span>
<br/>
<span>and sink into the marsh near them.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="light-hearted-william" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Light Hearted William</h2>
<p>
<span>Light hearted William twirled</span>
<br/>
<span>his November moustaches</span>
<br/>
<span>and, half dressed, looked</span>
<br/>
<span>from the bedroom window</span>
<br/>
<span>upon the spring weather.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Heigh-ya! sighed he gaily</span>
<br/>
<span>leaning out to see</span>
<br/>
<span>up and down the street</span>
<br/>
<span>where a heavy sunlight</span>
<br/>
<span>lay beyond some blue shadows.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Into the room he drew</span>
<br/>
<span>his head again and laughed</span>
<br/>
<span>to himself quietly</span>
<br/>
<span>twirling his green moustaches.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="portrait-of-the-author" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Portrait of the Author</h2>
<p>
<span>The birches are mad with green points</span>
<br/>
<span>the wood’s edge is burning with their green,</span>
<br/>
<span>burning, seething⁠—No, no, no.</span>
<br/>
<span>The birches are opening their leaves one</span>
<br/>
<span>by one. Their delicate leaves unfold cold</span>
<br/>
<span>and separate, one by one. Slender tassels</span>
<br/>
<span>hang swaying from the delicate branch tips⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>Oh, I cannot say it. There is no word.</span>
<br/>
<span>Black is split at once into flowers. In</span>
<br/>
<span>every bog and ditch, flares of</span>
<br/>
<span>small fire, white flowers!⁠—Agh,</span>
<br/>
<span>the birches are mad, mad with their green.</span>
<br/>
<span>The world is gone, torn into shreds</span>
<br/>
<span>with this blessing. What have I left undone</span>
<br/>
<span>that I should have undertaken</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>O my brother, you redfaced, living man</span>
<br/>
<span>ignorant, stupid whose feet are upon</span>
<br/>
<span>this same dirt that I touch⁠—and eat.</span>
<br/>
<span>We are alone in this terror, alone,</span>
<br/>
<span>face to face on this road, you and I,</span>
<br/>
<span>wrapped by this flame!</span>
<br/>
<span>Let the polished plows stay idle,</span>
<br/>
<span>their gloss already on the black soil.</span>
<br/>
<span>But that face of yours⁠—!</span>
<br/>
<span>Answer me. I will clutch you. I</span>
<br/>
<span>will hug you, grip you. I will poke my face</span>
<br/>
<span>into your face and force you to see me.</span>
<br/>
<span>Take me in your arms, tell me the commonest</span>
<br/>
<span>thing that is in your mind to say,</span>
<br/>
<span>say anything. I will understand you⁠—!</span>
<br/>
<span>It is the madness of the birch leaves opening</span>
<br/>
<span>cold, one by one.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>My rooms will receive me. But my rooms</span>
<br/>
<span>are no longer sweet spaces where comfort</span>
<br/>
<span>is ready to wait on me with its crumbs.</span>
<br/>
<span>A darkness has brushed them. The mass</span>
<br/>
<span>of yellow tulips in the bowl is shrunken.</span>
<br/>
<span>Every familiar object is changed and dwarfed.</span>
<br/>
<span>I am shaken, broken against a might</span>
<br/>
<span>that splits comfort, blows apart</span>
<br/>
<span>my careful partitions, crushes my house</span>
<br/>
<span>and leaves me⁠—with shrinking heart</span>
<br/>
<span>and startled, empty eyes⁠—peering out</span>
<br/>
<span>into a cold world.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>In the spring I would drink! In the spring</span>
<br/>
<span>I would be drunk and lie forgetting all things.</span>
<br/>
<span>Your face! Give me your face, Yang Kue Fei!</span>
<br/>
<span>your hands, your lips to drink!</span>
<br/>
<span>Give me your wrists to drink⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>I drag you, I am drowned in you, you</span>
<br/>
<span>overwhelm me! Drink!</span>
<br/>
<span>Save me! The shad bush is in the edge</span>
<br/>
<span>of the clearing. The yards in a fury</span>
<br/>
<span>of lilac blossoms are driving me mad with terror.</span>
<br/>
<span>Drink and lie forgetting the world.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And coldly the birch leaves are opening one by one.</span>
<br/>
<span>Coldly I observe them and wait for the end.</span>
<br/>
<span>And it ends.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="the-lonely-street" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">The Lonely Street</h2>
<p>
<span>School is over. It is too hot</span>
<br/>
<span>to walk at ease. At ease</span>
<br/>
<span>in light frocks they walk the streets</span>
<br/>
<span>to while the time away.</span>
<br/>
<span>They have grown tall. They hold</span>
<br/>
<span>pink flames in their right hands.</span>
<br/>
<span>In white from head to foot,</span>
<br/>
<span>with sidelong, idle look⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>in yellow, floating stuff,</span>
<br/>
<span>black sash and stockings⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>touching their avid mouths</span>
<br/>
<span>with pink sugar on a stick⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>like a carnation each holds in her hand⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span>they mount the lonely street.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="the-great-figure" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">The Great Figure</h2>
<p>
<span>Among the rain</span>
<br/>
<span>and lights</span>
<br/>
<span>I saw the figure 5</span>
<br/>
<span>in gold</span>
<br/>
<span>on a red</span>
<br/>
<span>firetruck</span>
<br/>
<span>moving</span>
<br/>
<span>with weight and urgency</span>
<br/>
<span>tense</span>
<br/>
<span>unheeded</span>
<br/>
<span>to gong clangs</span>
<br/>
<span>siren howls</span>
<br/>
<span>and wheels rumbling</span>
<br/>
<span>through the dark city.</span>
</p>
</article>
<section id="colophon" epub:type="colophon backmatter">
<header>
<h2 epub:type="title">Colophon</h2>
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epub:type="z3998:publisher-logo se:image.color-depth.black-on-transparent"/>
</header>
<p><i epub:type="se:name.publication.book">Poetry</i><br/>
was compiled from poems published between <time>1913</time> and <time>1921</time> by<br/>
<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Carlos_Williams">William Carlos Williams</a>.</p>
<p>This ebook was produced for<br/>
<a href="https://standardebooks.org/">Standard Ebooks</a><br/>
by<br/>
<a href="https://astart.ca/"><abbr epub:type="z3998:given-name">B.</abbr> Timothy Keith</a> and <a href="https://readingwithapencil.com/"><abbr epub:type="z3998:given-name">L. A.</abbr> Vermeer</a>,<br/>
and is based on transcriptions produced between <time>2010</time> and <time>2016</time> by<br/>
<b epub:type="z3998:personal-name">Meredith Bach</b>, <b epub:type="z3998:personal-name">Diane Monico</b>, <b epub:type="z3998:personal-name">Bryan Ness</b>, and <a href="https://www.pgdp.net/">Distributed Proofreaders</a><br/>
for<br/>
<a href="https://standardebooks.org/ebooks/william-carlos-williams/poetry#transcriptions">Project Gutenberg</a><br/>
and on digital scans from<br/>
<a href="https://standardebooks.org/ebooks/william-carlos-williams/poetry#page-scans">various sources</a>.</p>
<p>The cover page is adapted from<br/>
<i epub:type="se:name.visual-art.painting">In the Woods</i>,<br/>
a painting completed in <time>1855</time> by<br/>
<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Asher_Brown_Durand">Asher Brown Durand</a>.<br/>
The cover and title pages feature the<br/>
<span epub:type="se:name.visual-art.typeface">League Spartan</span> and <span epub:type="se:name.visual-art.typeface">Sorts Mill Goudy</span><br/>
typefaces created in <time>2014</time> and <time>2009</time> by<br/>
<a href="https://www.theleagueofmoveabletype.com/">The League of Moveable Type</a>.</p>
<p>The first edition of this ebook was released on<br/>
<time datetime="2019-09-11T21:24:43Z">September 11, 2019, 9:24 <abbr class="eoc">p.m.</abbr></time><br/>
You can check for updates to this ebook, view its revision history, or download it for different ereading systems at<br/>
<a href="https://standardebooks.org/ebooks/william-carlos-williams/poetry">standardebooks.org/ebooks/william-carlos-williams/poetry</a>.</p>
<p>The volunteer-driven Standard Ebooks project relies on readers like you to submit typos, corrections, and other improvements. Anyone can contribute at <a href="https://standardebooks.org/">standardebooks.org</a>.</p>
</section>
<section id="uncopyright" epub:type="copyright-page backmatter">
<h2 epub:type="title">Uncopyright</h2>
<blockquote epub:type="z3998:verse">
<p>
<span>May you do good and not evil.</span>
<br/>
<span>May you find forgiveness for yourself and forgive others.</span>
<br/>
<span>May you share freely, never taking more than you give.</span>
</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Copyright pages exist to tell you that you <em>can’t</em> do something. Unlike them, this Uncopyright page exists to tell you that the writing and artwork in this ebook are believed to be in the United States public domain; that is, they are believed to be free of copyright restrictions in the United States. The United States public domain represents our collective cultural heritage, and items in it are free for anyone in the United States to do almost anything at all with, without having to get permission.</p>
<p>Copyright laws are different all over the world, and the source text or artwork in this ebook may still be copyrighted in other countries. If you’re not located in the United States, you must check your local laws before using this ebook. Standard Ebooks makes no representations regarding the copyright status of the source text or artwork in this ebook in any country other than the United States.</p>
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