Shawl
Eight hours by bus, and night
was on them. He could see himself now
in the window, see his head there with the country . . .
Eight hours by bus, and night
was on them. He could see himself now
in the window, see his head there with the country . . .
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
. . .
If you cannot trust the dog, the faithful one?
And is this anyway a dog? The shadows move,
Dog and dog, two lanky figures, three, sniffing . . .
I have had enough.
I gasp for breath.
. . .
Skimming lightly, wheeling still,
The swallows fly low
Over the field in clouded days, . . .
While this America settles in the mould of its vulgarity, heavily thickening to empire,
And protest, only a bubble in the molten mass, pops and sighs out, and the mass hardens,
. . .
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
. . .
Virgin, sappy, gorgeous, the right-now
Flutters its huge prosthetics at us, flung
To the spotlights, frozen in motion, center-ice. . . .
On the rough diamond,
the hand-cut field below the dog lot and barn,
we rehearsed the strict technique . . .
There is a silence where hath been no sound,
There is a silence where no sound may be,
In the cold grave—under the deep deep sea, . . .