DAYS of the dead men, Danny. Drum for the dead, drum on your remembering heart. Jaurès, a great love-heart of Fra… a slug of lead in the red valves.

I DRANK musty ale at the Illino… the millionaire manufacturer of Gr… one night And his face had the shining light… he spoke of a beautiful daughter,…

THE BRASS medallion profile of… It is not jingling with loose chan… It is not stuck up in a show place… I carry it in a special secret poc… And it is under my pillow at night…

(We can succeed only by concert. . . . The dogmas of the quiet past are inadequate to the stormy present. The occasion is piled high with difficulty, and we must rise with the occasion....

GIVE me your anathema. Speak new damnations on my head. The evening mist in the hills is s… The boulders on the road say commu… The farm dogs look out of their ey…

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…

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,

They were calling certain styles o… And another manner of beard assume… Of “mutton chops,” “galways,” “fea… Metaphors such as these sprang fro… Sprang from sparrows finding scatt…

HAVE I told any man to be a liar… Have I sold ice to the poor in su… Have I given any man an earful to… Have I put wool in my own ears wh… Have I taken dollars from the liv…

BORN a million years ago you sta… watching the women come and live a… you and they thin-gray thin-dusk l… So it goes: either the early morni… I am glad I have seen racehorses,…

THE SNOW piles in dark places a… Pools by the railroad tracks shine… The gravel of all shallow places s… A white pigeon reels and somersaul… Frogs plutter and squdge-and frogs…

I WROTE a poem on the mist And a woman asked me what I meant… I had thought till then only of th… how pearl and gray of it mix and r… And change the drab shanties with…

JOY... weaving two violet petals for a coat lapel... painting on a slab of night sky a Christ face... slipping new brass keys into rusty iron locks and shouldering till at last the door...

I SHALL foot it Down the roadway in the dusk, Where shapes of hunger wander And the fugitives of pain go by. I shall foot it

THE owl-car clatters along, dogge… From building and battered paving-… The headlight scoffs at the mist, And fixes its yellow rays in the c… Against a pane I press my forehea…