If We Must Die, Let It Not

If We Must Die, O Let Us Nobly Die.

We Are Like Trees. We Wear All Colors Naturally.

Upon The Clothes Behind The Tenement, That Hang Like Ghosts Suspended From The Lines, Linking Each Flat, But To Each Indifferent, Incongruous And Strange The Moonlight Shines.

The Shivering Birds Beneath The Eaves Have Sheltered For The Night.

And, Hungry For The Old, Familiar Ways, I Turned Aside And Bowed My Head And Wept.