Wind, just arisen - (Off what cool mattress of marsh-m… In tented boughs leaf-drawn before… Or niche of cliff under the eagles… You of living things,

Small towns Crawling out of their green shirts… Tubercular towns Coughing a little in the dawn... And the church...

The foreman's head slowly circling... White rims under yellow disks of eyes.... Gold hairs

Light! Innumerable ions of light, Kindling, irradiating, All to their foci tending… Light that jingles like anklet cha…

Long vast shapes... cooled and flu… Lidless windows Glazed with a flashy luster From some little pert café chirpin… And down among iron guts

Was there a wind? Tap... tap... Night pads upon the snow with moccasined feet... and it is still... so still... an eagle's feather might fall like a stone. Could there have been a storm...

I have a dream to fill the golden sheath of a remembered day.... (Air heavy and massed and blue

A late snow beats With cold white fists upon the ten… Hurriedly drawing blinds and shutt… Like tall old slatterns Pulling aprons about their heads.

Can you see me, Sasha? I can see you.... A tentacle of the vast dawn is res… that floats as though detached in a sultry and greenish vapor.

The soldiers lie upon the snow, That no longer gyrates under the s… Night juggles in her fat black han… They will not babble any more secr… nights

That was a great night we spied up… See-sawing home, Singing a hot sweet song to the su… Shuffling off behind the smoke-haz… Fog-horns sentimentalizing on the…

I am of the wind... A wisp of the battering wind... I trail my fingers along the Alps And an avalanche falls in my wake.… I feel in my quivering length

I love those spirits That men stand off and point at, Or shudder and hood up their souls… Those ruined ones, Where Liberty has lodged an hour

Will you feast with me, American… But what have I that shall seem g… On my board are bitter apples And honey served on thorns, And in my flagons fluid iron,

TIME-STONE Hallo, Metropolitan’€” Ubiquitous windows staring all way… Red eye notching the darkness. No use to ogle that slip of a moon…