We are happy all the time Even when we fight: Sweet briars of the stairways, Gay fairies of the grime; We, who are playing to-night.…

A curse upon each king who leads h… No matter what his plea, to this f… And may it end his wicked dynasty, And may he die in exile and black… If there is vengeance in the Heav…

The Youth speaks: - “Why do you seek the sun In your bubble-crown ascending? Your chariot will melt to mist. Your crown will have an ending.”

(A Poem Game.) “And when the Queen of Sheba hear… [The men’s leader rises as he sees… Men’s Leader: The Queen of Sh… [He bows three times.]

The Jazz-bird sings a barnyard so… A cock-a-doodle bray, A jingle-bells, a boiler works, A he-man’s roundelay. The eagle said, ‘My noisy son,

(A Negro Sermon.) Once, in a night as black as ink, She drove him out when he would no… Round the house there were men in… Asleep in rows by the Gaza gate.

In which he is remembered in simil… the king’s jester, who died when H… Yorick is dead. Boy Hamlet walks… Beneath the battlements of Elsino… Where are those oddities and caper…

Though better men may fear that tr… I meet you, lady, on the Judgment… With golden hope my spirit still a… Our God who made you all so fair… Is three times gentle, and before…

On the road to nowhere What wild oats did you sow When you left your father’s house With your cheeks aglow? Eyes so strained and eager

A Recitation for Martha Wakefiel… There was a little turtle. He lived in a box. He swam in a puddle. He climbed on the rocks.

O you who lose the art of hope, Whose temples seem to shrine a lie… Whose sidewalks are but stones of… Who weep that Liberty must die, Turn to the little prairie towns,

A chant for a children’s pantom… I saw a proud, mysterious cat, I saw a proud, mysterious cat Too proud to catch a mouse or rat— Mew, mew, mew.

‘There’s machinery in the butterfl… There’s a mainspring to the bee; There’s hydraulics to a daisy, And contraptions to a tree. ‘If we could see the birdie

Oh, once I walked a garden In dreams. ’Twas yellow grass. And many orange-trees grew there In sand as white as glass. The curving, wide wall-border

This is the song The spice-tree sings: “Hunger and fire, Hunger and fire, Sky-born Beauty—