English

J ERICHO , Jericho,
Round and round the walls I go
Where they watch with scornful eyes,
Where the captained bastions rise;
Heel and toe, heel and toe,
Blithely round the walls I go.

Jericho, Jericho,
Round and round the walls I go . . .
All the golden ones of earth
Regal in their lordly mirth . . .
Heel and toe, heel and toe,
Round and round the walls I go.

Jericho, Jericho,
Blithely round the walls I go,
With a broken sword in hand
Where the mighty bastions stand;
Heel and toe, heel and toe,

Oi am in anguish this tide,
I cannot drink drams with éclat,
A maggot, blown in my inside,
Has published my secret to a'.
I cannot see going around
The lass o' the blithsomest e'e,
And that sunk my heart to the ground,
Like leaves from the top of a tree.

O my most beringletted belle,
'Tis I feel the want o' thee sore,
Gin a good home thou'st chosen thysel',
My blessing wi' thee evermore.
I'm sighing because thou art gone,
Like a wounded soldier in pain
On the battle-field lying undone,

Our orchestra
is the cat's nuts—

Banjo jazz
with a nickelplated

amplifier to
soothe

the savage beast—
Get the rhythm

That sheet stuff
's a lot a cheese.

Man
gimme the key

and lemme loose—
I make 'em crazy

with my harmonies—
Shoot it Jimmy

Nobody
Nobody else

but me—
They can't copy it

Wine of the grey sky
Wine of happiness
Invisible rain
Driven down
You bathe me
And I am refreshed:

Yesterday
I was in the city
I stood before
The new station
Watching
The white clouds
Passing
The great Hermes
And flying,
Flying toward Greece.
I saw
The fluted columns
(Not ground Piece into piece But fitted with plaster)
I saw the frieze
Of acanthus:
All that has endured
Through the long days
And the long, long nights
And I thought
Of Phidias,

If I talk to things
Do not flatter yourself
That I am mad
Rather realize yourself
To be deaf and that
Of two evils, the plants
Being deaf likewise,
I choose that
Which proves by other
Attributes worthier
Of the distinction.

Hear me
You who listen without malice.
Hear me
You crusts of blue moss,
And black earth
In the twisted roots
Of the white tree!

Hear me, black trees
The wind
Howling in your branches!
Hear me
Long red-grass
Matted down

Though Death has claimed my dust
For the earth's need,
Lent me a while on trust
By flower and seed;

Though Failure clutched me in
His iron hand
With that old look and grin
I understand;

They neither can annul
Nor make accurst
The light that through my skull
Sifts still, as first

It did, when in my eyes
(Which now are none)
It woke some dear surmise
Of joy begun,

And those black frosts that stir
In the deep wood
Told me without demur
That life was good.

God ploughed one day with an earthquake,
And drove his furrows deep!
The huddling plains upstarted,
The hills were all a-leap!

But that is the mountain's secret,
Age-hidden in their breast;
‘God's peace is everlasting,’
Are the dream-words of their rest.

He hath made them the haunt of beauty,
The home elect of his grace;
He spreadeth his mornings on them,
His sunsets light their face.

His thunders tread in music
Of footfalls echoing long,
And carry majestic greeting

How , as a spider's web is spun
With subtle grace and art,
Do thy light footsteps, every one,
Cross and recross my heart!
Now here, now there, and to and fro,
Their winding mazes turn;
Thy fairy feet so lightly go
They seem the earth to spurn.
Yet every step leaves there behind
A something, in thy dance,
That serves to tangle up my mind
And all my soul entrance.

How, as the web the spiders spin
And wanton breezes blow,
Thy soft and filmy laces in
A swirl around thee flow!

It autumne was, and cheereful chantecleare
Had warn'd the world tuise that the day drew neare;
The three parts of the night almost war spent,
When I, poore wretch, with loue and fortune rent,
Began my eies to close, and suetest sleep,
Charming my sense, al ouer me did creep,
But scars with Lethe drops and rod of gold
Had he me made a piece of breathing mold.

The Volunteers! the Volunteers!
I dream, as in the by-gone years,
I hear again their stirring cheers,
And see their banners shine,
What time the yet unconquered North
Pours to the wars her legions forth,
For many a wrong to strike a blow
With mailed hand at Mexico.

The Volunteers! Ah, where are they
Who bade the hostile surges stay,
When the black forts of Monterey
Frowned on their dauntless line?
When, undismayed amid the shock
Of war, like Cerro Gordo's rock,
They stood, or rushed more madly on