Among the bumble-bees in red-top hay, a freckled field of brown-eyed Susans dripping yellow leaves i
All day long in fog and wind,
The waves have flung their beating crests
Against the palisades of
Many things I might have said today.
And I kept my mouth shut.
So many times I was asked
Give me hunger,
O you gods that sit and give
The world its orders.
Give me hunger, pain and wa
Three walls around the town of Tela when I came.
They expected everything of those walls;
Hog Butcher for the World,
Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
Player with Railroads and the Nation's
Your western heads here cast on money,
You are the two that fade away together,
Partners in the
The mare Alix breaks the world’s trotting record one day. I see her heels flash down the dust of a
And this will be all?
And the gates will never open again?
And the dust and the wind will play aro
You came from the Aztecs
With a copper on your fore-arms
Tawnier than a sunset
And so to-day- they lay him away-
the boy nobody knows the name of-
the buck private- the unknow
Sobs En Route to a Penitentiary
Good-by now to the streets and the clash of wheels and
Arithmetic is where numbers fly like pigeons in and out of your
Arithmet ic tell you how
Now the stone house on the lake front is finished and the
workmen are beginning the fence.
I cried over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.
The field of cornflower yellow i
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
Among the red guns,
In the hearts of soldiers
Running free blood
In the long, long campaign:
Close-mouthed you sat five thousand years and never let out a whisper.
Processions came by, marche
Poland, France, Judea ran in her veins,
Singing to Paris for bread, singing to Gotham in a fizz at
A million young workmen straight and strong lay stiff on the grass and roads,
And the million are n
A father sees his son nearing manhood.
What shall he tell that son?
'Life is hard; be steel; be a
Jesus emptied the devils of one man into forty hogs and the hogs took the edge of a high rock and dr
Every year Emily Dickinson sent one friend
the first arbutus bud in her garden.
In a last will a
There will be a rusty gun on the wall, sweetheart,
The rifle grooves curling with flakes of rust.
Cross the hands over the breast here--so.
Straighten the legs a little more--so.
And call for th
Smash down the cities.
Knock the walls to pieces.
Break the factories and cathedrals, warehouses
They were calling certain styles of whiskers by the name of “lilacs.”
And another manner of bea
I wanted a man’s face looking into the jaws and throat of life
With something proud on his face,
White moon comes in on a baby face.
The shafts across her bed are flimmering.
Out on the land Wh
There is a blue star, Janet,
Fifteen years’ ride from us,
If we ride a hundred miles an hour.