I watch the Indians dancing to help the young corn at Taos
pueblo. The old men squat in a ring
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The Atlantic is a stormy moat; and the Mediterranean,
The blue pool in the old garden,
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The extraordinary patience of things!
This beautiful place defaced with a crop of surburban houses-
15 lines, 1 comment
The deer were bounding like blown leaves
Under the smoke in front the roaring wave of the brush-fire;
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The heads of strong old age are beautiful
Beyond all grace of youth. They have strange quiet,
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While this America settles in the mould of its vulgarity, heavily thickening to empire And protest, only a bubble in the molten mass,
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When the sun shouts and people abound
One thinks there were the ages of stone and the age of
14 lines, 2 comments
Then what is the answer?- Not to be deluded by dreams.
To know that great civilizations have broken down into violence,
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The universe expands and contracts like a great heart.
It is expanding, the farthest nebulae
40 lines
Joy is a trick in the air; pleasure is merely
contemptible, the dangled
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The continent's a tamed ox, with all its mountains,
Powerful and servile; here is for plowland, here is
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To be an ape in little of the mountain-making mother
Like swarthy Cheops, but my own hands
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The heroic stars spending themselves,
Coining their very flesh into bullets for the lost battle,
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Is it not by his high superfluousness we know
Our God? For to be equal a need
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The little biplane that has the river-meadow for landing-field
And carries passengers brief rides,
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A night the half-moon was like a dancing-girl,
No, like a drunkard's last half-dollar
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Christ was your lord and captain all your life,
He fails the world but you he did not fail,
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(NOVEMBER, 1918)
Peace now for every fury has had her day,
172 lines
Point Joe has teeth and has torn ships; it has fierce and solitary
beauty;
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The clapping blackness of the wings of pointed cormorants,
the great indolent planes
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The days shorten, the south blows wide for showers now,
The south wind shouts to the rivers,
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Old garden of grayish and ochre lichen,
How long a rime since the brown people who have vanished from
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At the equinox when the earth was veiled in a late rain, wreathed
with wet poppies, waiting spring,
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You'd never have thought the Queen was Helen's sister- Troy's
burning-flower from Sparta, the beautiful sea-flower
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The dog barked; then the woman stood in the doorway, and hearing
iron strike stone down the steep road
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The ebb slips from the rock, the sunken
Tide-rocks lift streaming shoulders
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The fierce musical cries of a couple of sparrowhawks hunting
on the headland,
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Invisible gulls with human voices cry in the sea-cloud
"There is room, wild minds,
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Sports and gallantries, the stage, the arts, the antics of dancers,
The exuberant voices of music,
23 lines
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