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

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

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 wonder how it would be here with you, where the wind that has shaken off its dust in lo… touches one cleanly,

Indigo bulb of darkness Punctured by needle lights Through a fissure of brick canyon… And a sliver of moon Spigoting two high windows over th…

I THOUGHT to die that night in… But there was time ... And I lay quietly on the drawn kn… I do not know how long ... I could not count the hours, they…

A spring wind on the Bowery, Blowing the fluff of night shelter… Off bedraggled garments, And agitating the gutters, that ej… Like lewd growths.

How should they appraise you, who… Only time standing well off shall…

Cool, inaccessible air Is floating in velvety blackness s… But no breath stirs the heat Leaning its ponderous bulk upon th… And most on Hester street…

—Albert Parsons went to his death singing Annie Laurie; didn’t another have a rose in his coat–

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 ....

Dance, little children... it is ho… Have you hung paper flowers about… Dance soft . . . but very gaily...… Spread your little pinafores And courtesy as the snow does . .…

I remember The crackle of the palm trees Over the mooned white roofs of the… The shining town’€¦ And the tender fumbling of the sur…

Out of the night you burn, Manhat… In a vesture of gold— Span of innumerable arcs, Flaring and multiplying— Gold at the uttermost circles fadi…

The old men of the world have made… To warm their trembling hands. They poke the young men in. The young men burn like withes. If one run a little way,