Severe against the pleasant arc of… The great stone box is cruelly dis… The street becomes more dreary fro… And vagrant breezes touch its wall… Here sullen convicts in their chai…

For blows on the fort of evil That never shows a breach, For terrible life-long races To a goal no foot can reach, For reckless leaps into darkness

(For Edward J. Wheeler) Within the Jersey City shed The engine coughs and shakes its h… The smoke, a plume of red and whit… Waves madly in the face of night.

Not on the lute, nor harp of many… Shall all men praise the Master o… Our life is brief, one saith, and… And skilled must be the laureates… Silent, O lips that utter foolish…

1 "Romantic Ireland’s dead an… 2 It’s with O’Leary in the… 3 Then, Yeats, what gave that… 4 A hue so radiantly brave? 5 There was a rain of blood th…

A few long-hoarded pennies in his… Behold him stand; A kilted Hedonist, perplexed and… The joy that once he had, The first delight of ownership is…

When I am tired of earnest men, Intense and keen and sharp and cle… Pursuing fame with brush or pen Or counting metal disks forever, Then from the halls of Shadowland

Tired clerks, pale girls, street c… Boys, priests and harlots, drunkar… Each one the pleasant outer sunshi… They mingle in this stifling, loud… The gate clangs to– we stir– we sw…

(For Alden March) With drooping sail and pennant That never a wind may reach, They float in sunless waters Beside a sunless beach.

Serene he stands, with mist serene… And draws a cloak of trees about h… The thunder roars but cannot break… And from his rugged face the tempe… He does not heed the angry lightni…

(For S.M.L.) I like to look at the blossomy tra… But it isn’t half so fine a sight… When it all was covered over with… And over the crisp and radiant roa…

(For Kenton) An iron hand has stilled the throa… That throbbed with loud and rhythm… And dammed the flood of silver not… That drenched the world in melody.

In a wood they call the Rouge Bou… There is a new-made grave to-day, Built by never a spade nor pick Yet covered with earth ten metres… There lie many fighting men,

Because we never build a nest And no one of us ever sings, We are the butt of every jest That strutting loud-mouthed robin… Unless the field with laughter rin…