Débris
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
And passed like flame,
Bursting asunder the too small house.
This poem is in the public domain.
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Wind Rising in the Alleys
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Reveille
Come forth, you workers!
Let the fires go cold—
Let the iron spill out, out of the troughs—
Let the iron run wild
Like a red bramble on the floors—
Leave the mill and the foundry and the mine
And the shrapnel lying on the wharves—
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I have known only my own shallows—
Safe, plumbed places,
Where I was wont to preen myself.
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I wanted a plank beneath
And horizons...
I was afraid of the silence
And the slipping toe-hold...
1918