Not your martyrs anointed of heave… The ages are red where they trod - But the Hunted - the world’s bitt… Who smote at your imbecile God - A being to pander and fawn to,

You can see the sandhills from our… Butterflies live in the sandhills and lizards and centipedes.

(Easter 1916) Censored lies that mimic truth’€¦ Censored truth as pale as fear’€¦ My heart is like a rousing bell - And but the dead to hear’€¦

Indigo bulb of darkness Punctured by needle lights Through a fissure of brick canyon… And a sliver of moon Spigoting two high windows over th…

Was there a wind? Tap... tap... Night pads upon the snow with moccasined feet... and it is still... so still... an eagle's feather might fall like a stone. Could there have been a storm...

Cool, inaccessible air Is floating in velvety blackness s… But no breath stirs the heat Leaning its ponderous bulk upon th… And most on Hester street…

How should they appraise you, who… Only time standing well off shall…

Blow through me wind As you blow through apple blossoms… Scatter me in shining petals over… Joyously I reunite’€¦ sway and ga… Sedately I walk by the dancing fe…

Oh, God did cunningly, there at B… Not mere tongues dividing, but sou… So that never again should men be… To fashion one infinite, towering…

That was a great night we spied up… See-sawing home, Singing a hot sweet song to the su… Shuffling off behind the smoke-haz… Fog-horns sentimentalizing on the…

We are old, Old as song. Before Rome was Or Cyrene. Mad nights knew us

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

Radiant notes piercing my narrow-chested room, beating down through my ceiling - smeared with unshapen belly-prints of dreams

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’€…

Spires of Grace Church, For you the workers of the world Travailed with the mountains’€¦ Aborting their own dreams Till the dream of you arose -