Dour river Jaded with monotony of lights Diving off mast heads.... Lights mad with creating in a rive… Heave up, river...

The earth is motionless And poised in space .... A great bird resting in its flight Between the alleys of the stars. It is the wind’s hour off ....

In a little Hungarian cafe Men and women are drinking Yellow wine in tall goblets. Through the milky haze of the smok… The fiddler, under-sized, blond,

Spires of Grace Church, For you the workers of the world Travailed with the mountains’€¦ Aborting their own dreams Till the dream of you arose -

Aren’t there bigger things to talk… Than a window in Greenwich Villag… And hyacinths sprouting Like little puce poems out of a si… Some cosmic hearsay—

Mama’s face is smooth and pale as tea-rose lea… That ivory oval of aunt Gem you sucked the miniature off had black black hair like mama.

They pass through the great iron g… Men with eyes gravely discerning, Skilled to appraise the tunnage of… Or split an inch into thousandths… Men tempered by fire as the ore is

Last night I watched a star fall like a great… Till my ego expanding encompassed… Containing both as in a trembling…

The earth is motionless And poised in space ... A great bird resting in its flight Between the alleys of the stars. It is the wind’s hour off ...

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

Wind rising in the alleys My spirit lifts in you like a bann… You are full of unspent dreams.... You are laden with beginnings.... There is hope in you... not sweet.…

Come forth, you workers! Let the fires go cold’€” Let the iron spill out, out of the… Let the iron run wild Like a red bramble on the floors’€…

We are old, Old as song. Before Rome was Or Cyrene. Mad nights knew us

Skyscrapers... remote, unpartisan.… Turning neither to the right nor l… Your imperturbable fronts.... Austerely greeting the sun With one chilly finger of stone...…