Are these your presences, my clan… Are these your hands upon my wound… Mine own, mine own, blood of my bl… Fly by my path till you have made…

I am unjust, but I can strive for… My life’s unkind, but I can vote… I, the unloving, say life should b… I, that am blind, cry out against… Man is a curious brute—he pets his…

In a nation of one hundred fine, m… There are plenty of sweeping, swin… And knock your old blue devils out… I brag and chant of Bryan, Bryan,… Candidate for president who sketch…

He coveted her portrait. He toiled as she grew gay. She loved to see him labor In that devoted way. And in the end it pleased her,

He paid a Swede twelve bits an ho… Just to invent a fancy style To spread the celebration paint So it would show at least a mile. Some things they did I will not t…

“If I could set the moon upon This table,” said my friend, “Among the standard poets And brouchures without end, And noble prints of old Japan,

The whole world on a raft! A King… The record of his grandeur but a s… Is it his deacon-beard, or old bal… That makes the band upon his whims… Loot and mud-honey have his soul d…

A Chant for Boys with Manly Voic… (Every line sung one step deeper t… Any sky-bird sings, Ring, ring! Any church-chime rings,

This poem is intended as a description of a sort of Blashfield mural painting on the sky. To be sung to the tune of Yankee Doodle, yet in a slower, more orotund fashion. It is presum...

Would that in body and spirit Sha… Visible emperor of the deeds of T… With Justice still the genius of… Giving each man his due, each pass… Impartial as the rain from Heaven…

I saw wild domes and bowers And smoking incense towers And mad exotic flowers In Illinois. Where ragged ditches ran

The angels guide him now, And watch his curly head, And lead him in their games, The little boy we led. He cannot come to harm,

I. THE LION The Lion is a kingly beast. He likes a Hindu for a feast. And if no Hindu he can get, The lion-family is upset.

To be intoned, all but the two… Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong. Here lies a kitten good, who kept A kitten’s proper place. He stole no pantry eatables,

Down, down beneath the daisy beds, O hear the cries of pain! And moaning on the cinder-path They’re blind amid the rain. Can murmurs of the worms arise