Make rhythms up to the ragtime chatter of the machine guns; Make slow-booming psalms up to the boom of the big guns. Make a marching song of swinging arms and swinging legs, On ...

TAKE a hold now On the silver handles here, Six silver handles, One for each of his old pals. Take hold

ARMOUR AVENUE was the name o… Scrap iron, rags and bottles fill… The segregated district, the Tend…

Sobs En Route to a Penitentiary Good-by now to the streets and the… locking hubs, The sun coming on the brass buckle… The muscles of the horses sliding…

I AM an ancient reluctant conscri… On the soup wagons of Xerxes I wa… On the march of Miltiades’ phalan… I had a bristling gleaming spear-h… Red-headed Cæsar picked me for a…

AMONG the red guns, In the hearts of soldiers Running free blood In the long, long campaign: Dreams go on.

There was a woman tore off a red v… And slashed the white skin of her… And a crimson zigzag wrote a finge… There was a woman spoke six short… And quit a life that was old to he…

Every year Emily Dickinson sent o… the first arbutus bud in her garde… In a last will and testament Andr… remembered a friend with the gift… Washington’s pocket spy-glass.

I REMEMBER the Chillicothe ba… And the shoulders of the Chillico… And the umpire’s voice was hoarse…

DO you know how the dream looms?… Summer when the lungs of the earth… And another long breath for the si… So I shall look for you in the li… In the listening tops of the hicko…

UNDER the harvest moon, When the soft silver Drips shimmering Over the garden nights, Death, the gray mocker,

I REMEMBER here by the fire, In the flickering reds and saffron… They came in a ramshackle tub, Pilgrims in tall hats, Pilgrims of iron jaws, 5

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…

or a man out of the ashes of false dawn muttering 'hot-dog’ to the night watchmen: Is there a spieler who has spoken the word or taken the number of night’s nothings? am I the spieler? ...

There is a blue star, Janet, Fifteen years’€™ ride from us, If we ride a hundred miles an hour… There is a white star, Janet, Forty years’€™ ride from us,