Dour river Jaded with monotony of lights Diving off mast heads.... Lights mad with creating in a rive… Heave up, river...

I remember The crackle of the palm trees Over the mooned white roofs of the… The shining town’€¦ And the tender fumbling of the sur…

I am of the wind... A wisp of the battering wind... I trail my fingers along the Alps And an avalanche falls in my wake.… I feel in my quivering length

Long vast shapes... cooled and flu… Lidless windows Glazed with a flashy luster From some little pert café chirpin… And down among iron guts

Out of the lamp—bestarred and clou… Snaring, illuding, concealing, Magically conjuring - Turning to fairy-coaches Beetle-backed limousines

I love those spirits That men stand off and point at, Or shudder and hood up their souls… Those ruined ones, Where Liberty has lodged an hour

Pythoness body—arching Over the night like an ecstasy— I feel your coils tightening... And the world’s lessening breath.

A late snow beats With cold white fists upon the ten… Hurriedly drawing blinds and shutt… Like tall old slatterns Pulling aprons about their heads.

Drab discoloration Of faces, façades, pawn-shops, Second-hand clothing, Smoky and fly-blown glass of lunch… Odors of rancid life’€¦

What of the silence of the keys And silvery hands? The iron sings… Though bows lie broken on the stri… The fly-wheels turn eternally’€¦ Bring fuel - drive the fires high’…

The old men of the world have made… To warm their trembling hands. They poke the young men in. The young men burn like withes. If one run a little way,

Come forth, you workers! Let the fires go cold’€” Let the iron spill out, out of the… Let the iron run wild Like a red bramble on the floors’€…

Will you feast with me, American… But what have I that shall seem g… On my board are bitter apples And honey served on thorns, And in my flagons fluid iron,

I THOUGHT to die that night in… But there was time ... And I lay quietly on the drawn kn… I do not know how long ... I could not count the hours, they…

Man of the flame-eyes And mouth with the bitter twist of… And little bald man . . . whose se… Is akin to the velocity of a spinn… Holding its perfect poise—