Was taken down and brought to me
One sleety night most comfortless.
Her hair was gold, her dolly-sash
Was gray brocade, most good to see.
The dear toy laughed, and I forgot
The ill the new year promised me.
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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…
Tolstoi is plowing yet. When the smoke-clouds break,
There he toils for the Kingdom of Heaven’s sake.Ah, he is taller than clouds of the little earth.Only the congress of planets is over him,And the arching path where new sweet stars have birth.Wearing his peasant dress, his head bent low,Tolstoi, that angel of Peace, is plowing yet;Forward, across the field, his horses go.
Ah, in the night, all music haunts me here. . . .
And the tremendous Amaranth descendsSweet with the glory of ten thousand dawns?Does it not mean my God would have me say: —‘Whether you will or no, O city young,Heaven will bloom like one great flower for you,Flash and loom greatly all your marts among?’Friends, I will not cease hoping though you weep.Such things I see,…
(To be sung by a leader and chorus, the leader singing
the question.)I’ve been to Palestine.WHAT DID YOU SEE IN PALESTINE?I saw the ark of Noah—It was made of pitch and pine.I saw old Father NoahAsleep beneath his vine.I saw Shem, Ham and JaphetStanding in a line.I saw the tower of BabelIn the gorgeous sunrise shine—By a weeping willow treeBeside the Dead Sea.I’ve been to Palestine.WHAT…
It is portentous, and a thing of state
A mourning figure walks, and will not rest,Near the old court-house pacing up and down.Or by his homestead, or in shadowed yardsHe lingers where his children used to play,Or through the market, on the well-worn stonesHe stalks until the dawn-stars burn away.A bronzed, lank man! His suit of ancient black,A famous high top-hat and plain…
Would that the lying rulers of the world
Would that the sword of Cromwell and the Lord,The sword of Joshua and Gideon,Hewed hip and thigh the hosts of Midian.God send that ironside ere tomorrow’s sun;Let Gabriel and Michael with him ride.God send the Regicide.