The Idiot
With green stagnant eyes, arms and legs loose ends of string in a wind, keep smiling at your father.
From Rhythms II, published in 1919. This poem is in the public domain.
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Not because of victories I sing, having none, but for the common sunshine, the breeze, the largess of the spring. Not for victory but for the day's work done as well as I was able; not for a seat upon the dais but at the common table.
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A white curtain turning in an open window.
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The stars are hidden,
the lights are out;
the tall black houses
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I beat my fists
on the stout doors,
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come down the floors.
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