Hear The Music, The Thunder Of The

I Have Seen These Ways Of God: I Know Of No Reason For Fire And Change And Torture And The Old Returnings.

Imagination, The Traitor Of The Mind, Has Taken My Solitude And Slain It.

If You Should Look For This Place After A Handful Of Lifetimes: Perhaps Of My Planted Forest A Few May Stand Yet, Dark-leaved Australians Or The Coast Cypress, Haggard With Storm-drift; But Fire And The Axe Are Devils. Look For Foundations Of Sea-worn Granite, My Fingers Had The Art To Make Stone Love Stone, You Will Find Some Remnant.

Death's A Fierce Meadowlark: But To Die Having Made / Something More Equal To The Centuries / Than Muscle And Bone, Is Mostly To Shed Weakness.

That Public Men Publish Falsehoods Is Nothing New. That America Must Accept Like The Historical Republics Corruption And Empire Has Been Known For Years. Be Angry At The Sun For Setting If These Things Anger You.