In the loam we sleep, In the cool moist loam, To the lull of years that pass And the break of stars, From the loam, then,

GUNS on the battle lines have po… between Brussels and Paris. And, William Morris, when I read… the great arches and naves and lit… corners of the Churches of Northe…

My knees are loose-like, my feet want to sling their selves. I feel like tickling you under the chin-honey-and a-asking: Why Does a Chicken Cross the Road? When the hens are a-laying eg...

THEY offer you many things, I a few. Moonlight on the play of fountains… With water sparkling a drowsy mono… Bare-shouldered, smiling women and…

Maybe he believes me, maybe not. Maybe I can marry him, maybe not. Maybe the wind on the prairie, The wind on the sea, maybe, Somebody, somewhere, maybe can tel…

GUNS, Long, steel guns, Pointed from the war ships In the name of the war god. Straight, shining, polished guns,

THERE was a late autumn cricket, And two smoldering mountain sunset… Under the valley roads of her eyes… There was a late autumn cricket, A hangover of summer song,

THE bronze General Grant riding… Park Shrivels in the sun by day when th… by in long processions going somew… for dinner and matinees and buying…

COME you, cartoonists, Hang on a strap with me here At seven o’clock in the morning On a Halsted street car. Take your pencils

JOHN BROWN’S body under the m… Six feet of dust under the morning… And a panorama of war performs its… Over the six-foot stage of circlin… Room for Gettysburg, Wilderness,…

ONCE when I saw a cripple Gasping slowly his last days with… Looking from hollow eyes, calling… Desperately gesturing with wasted… In the dark and dust of a house do…

IN Abraham Lincoln’s city, Where they remember his lawyer’s s… The place where they brought him Wrapped in battle flags, Wrapped in the smoke of memories

SOMEWHERE you and I remember… Stairways from the sea and our hea… Ladders of dust and mud and our ha… Rags of drenching mist and our han… You and I that snickered in the c…

MY people are gray, pigeon gray, dawn gray, storm gray… I call them beautiful, and I wonder where they are going.