I bring you gold and silver moons
And diamond stars, and mists that float.
I bring you moons and snowy clouds,
I bring you prairie skies to-night
To feebly praise your golden eyes
And red-bird song, and throat so white.
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Life’s a jail where men have common lot.
All our treasures neither less nor more,Bread alone comes thro’ the guarded door.Cards are foolish in this jail, I think,Yet they play for shoes, for drabs and drink.She, my lawless, sharp-tongued gypsy maidWill not scorn with me this jail-bird trade,Pets some fox-eyed boy who turns the trick,Tho’ he win a button or a stick,Pencil, garter,…
Last night at black midnight I woke with a cry,
The floor was a-tremble, the door was a-jar,White fires, crimson fires, shone from afar.I rushed to the door yard. The city was gone.My home was a hut without orchard or lawn.It was mud-smear and logs near a whispering stream,Nothing else built by man could I see in my dream…Then…Ghost-kings came headlong, row upon row,Gods of…
The whole world on a raft! A King is here,
Is it his deacon-beard, or old bald pateThat makes the band upon his whims to wait?Loot and mud-honey have his soul defiled.Quack, pig, and priest, he drives camp-meetings wildUntil they shower their pennies like spring rainThat he may preach upon the Spanish main.What landlord, lawyer, voodoo-man has yetA better native right to make men sweat?The…
When I see a young tree
With white leavesAnd white budsBarely tipped with green,In the April weather,In the weeping sunshine—Then I see my lady,My democratic queen,Standing free and equalWith the youngest woodland saplingSwaying, singing in the wind,Delicate and white:Soul so near to blossom,Fragile, strong as death;A kiss from far-off Eden,A flash of Judgment’s trumpet—April’s breath.
I
Are prosy men with leaden eyes.Like ants they worry to and fro,(Important men, in Buffalo.)But only twenty miles awayA deathless glory is at play:Niagara, Niagara.The women buy their lace and cry: —‘O such a delicate design,’And over ostrich feathers sigh,By counters there, in Buffalo.The children haunt the trinket shops,They buy false-faces, bells, and tops,Forgetting great…
Incense and Splendor haunt me as I go.
Though I do naught, High Heaven comes down to me,And future ages pass in tall review.I see the years to come as armies vast,Stalking tremendous through the fields of time.MAN is unborn. To-morrow he is born,Flame-like to hover o’er the moil and grime,Striving, aspiring till the shame is gone,Sowing a million flowers, where now we…
I bring you gold and silver moons,
And diamond stars, and mists that float.
I bring you moons and snowy clouds,
I bring you prarie skies to-night
To feebly praise your golden eyes
And red-bird song, and throat so white.
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‘There’s machinery in the butterfly;
There’s hydraulics to a daisy,And contraptions to a tree.‘If we could see the birdieThat makes the chirping soundWith x-ray, scientific eyes,We could see the wheels go round.’And I hope all menWho think like thisWill soon lieUnderground.
I know a seraph who has golden eyes,
Here in the wind I dream her unbound hairIs blowing round me, that desire’s sweet glowHas touched her pale keen face, and willful mien.And though she steps as one in manner bornTo tread the forests of fair Paradise,Dark memory’s wood she chooses to adorn.Here with bowed head, bashful with half-desireShe glides into my yesterday’s deep…
Where now the huts are empty,
In an abandoned cañon,A Gambler’s Ghost arose.He muttered there, ‘The moon’s a sackOf dust.’ His voice rose thin:‘I wish I knew the miner-man.I’d play, and play to win.In every game in Cripple-creekOf old, when stakes were high,I held my own. Now I would playFor that sack in the sky.The sport would not be ended there.‘Twould…
MOVING-PICTURE ACTRESS
Mary Pickford, doll divine,Year by year, and every dayAt the movmg-picture play,You have been my valentine.Once a free-limbed page in hose,Baby-Rosalind in flower,Cloakless, shrinking, in that hourHow our reverent passion rose,How our fine desire you won.Kitchen-wench another day,Shapeless, wooden every way.Next, a fairy from the sun.Once you walked a grown-up strandFish-wife siren, full of lure,Snaring…
Sleep softly … eagle forgotten … under the stone.
‘We have buried him now,’ thought your foes, and in secret rejoiced.They made a brave show of their mourning, their hatred unvoiced.They had snarled at you, barked at you, foamed at you, day after day.Now you were ended. They praised you … and laid you away.The others, that mourned you in silence and terror and…
A curse upon each king who leads his state,
And may it end his wicked dynasty,And may he die in exile and black shame.If there is vengeance in the Heaven of Heavens,What punishment could Heaven devise for theseWho fill the rivers of the world with dead,And turn their murderers loose on all the seas!Put back the clock of time a thousand years,And make our…