Is this writing mine
Whose name is this . . .
- View 3 Lines
- View Titles Only
Often beneath the wave, wide from this ledge
The dice of drowned men’s bones he saw bequeath
An embassy. Their numbers as he watched, . . .
In the shape of this night, in the still fall
of snow, Father
In all that is cold and tiny, these little birds . . .
The last time I saw Paul Castle
it was printed in gold on the wall
above the showers in the boys’ . . .
If I speak for the dead, I must leave
this animal of my body,
. . .
Thou ill-form’d offspring of my feeble brain,
Who after birth didst by my side remain,
Till snatched from thence by friends, less wise than true, . . .
Leaguered in fire . . .
Curtains forcing their will
against the wind,
children sleep, . . .
sauntering out of the almost-
silly West, on your face . . .
The summer of nineteen eighteen
I read The Jungle and The
Research Magnificent. That fall . . .