SHAKEN, The blossoms of lilac, And shattered, The atoms of purple. Green dip the leaves,

FLANDERS, the name of a place,… Spells itself with letters, is wri… “Where is Flanders?” was asked on… Flanders known only to those who l… And milked cows and made cheese an…

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

HAVE me in the blue and the sun. Have me on the open sea and the mo… When I go into the grass of the s… This is where I came from—the chl… It is here the nostrils rush the a…

THE sea is never still. It pounds on the shore Restless as a young heart, Hunting. The sea speaks

What does a hangman think about When he goes home at night from wo… When he sits down with his wife an… Children for a cup of coffee and a Plate of ham and eggs, do they ask

THIS Mohammedan colonel from the Caucasus yells with his voice and wigwags with his arms. The interpreter translates, ‘I was a friend of Kornilov, he asks me what to do and I tell him.’...

I TELL them where the wind comes… Where the music goes when the fidd… Kids-I saw one with a proud chin,… And the moonline creeping white on… I have seen their heads in the sta…

WALKED among the streets of an old city and the streets were lean as the throats of hard seafish soaked in salt and kept in barrels many years. How old, how old, how old, we are:—the...

THE GRAVE of Alexander Hamilt… The grave of Robert Fulton likewi… And in this yard stenogs, bundle b… An iron picket fence... and stream… ... easy is the sleep of Alexander…

I DON’T blame the kettle drums-t… And the snare drums-I know what t… And the harring booming bass drums… The howling spears of the Northwe… The lullabies of the Southwest ge…

SMASH down the cities. Knock the walls to pieces. Break the factories and cathedrals… and homes Into loose piles of stone and lumb…

INTO the gulf and the pit of the dark night, the cold night, there is a man goes into the dark and the cold and when he comes back to his people he brings fire in his hands and they rem...

LEGS hold a torso away from the… And a regular high poem of legs is… Powers of bone and cord raise a be… Out of ooze and over the loam wher… And arms have a chance to hammer a…

THERE are no handles upon a lang… Whereby men take hold of it And mark it with signs for its rem… It is a river, this language, Once in a thousand years