On up the sea slant, On up the horizon, The ship limps. The bone of her nose fog-gray, The heart of her sea-strong,

FLAT lands on the end of town where real estate men are crying new subdivisions, The sunsets pour blood and fire over you hundreds and hundreds of nights, flat lands—blood and fire of...

THE dago shovelman sits by the ra… Eating a noon meal of bread and bo… A train whirls by, and men and wom… Alive with red roses and yellow jo… Eat steaks running with brown grav…

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…

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

Tall timber stood here once, hee o… Here the roots of a half-mile of t… Then the axemen came and the chips… Dynamite, wagons, and horses took… It would come hard now for this ha…

I ASKED the professors who teac… me what is happiness. And I went to famous executives w… thousands of men. They all shook their heads and gav…

LET us sit by a hissing steam rad… And let us talk about milk wagon d… Let us keep our feet in wool slipp… Let us write of olden, golden days… A roustabout hunched on a coal wag…

Millions of men go to war, acres of them are buried, guns and ships broken, cities burned, villages sent up in smoke, and children where cows are killed off amid hoarse barbecues vanish...

IT’S a lean car … a long-legged d… The feet of it eat the dirt of a r… Danny the driver dreams of it when… It is in Danny’s life and runs in…

A million young workmen straight and strong lay stiff on the grass and roads, And the million are now under soil and their rottening flesh will in the years feed roots of blood-red rose...

I CANNOT tell you now; When the wind’s drive and whirl Blow me along no longer, And the wind’s a whisper at last— Maybe I’ll tell you then—

NANCY HANKS dreams by the fir… Dreams, and the logs sputter, And the yellow tongues climb. Red lines lick their way in flicke… Oh, sputter, logs.

THE SHEETS of night mist trave… I know why you came at sundown in… What was it we touched asking noth… How many times can death come and… In the oath of the sod, the lips t…