When It Came Night, The White Waves

Such An Assemblage Of The Spraddle-legged Men Of The Middle Class, Whose Hands Were Bent And Shoulders Stooped From Delving And Constructing, Had Never Appeared To An Asbury Park Summer Crowd, And The Latter Was Vaguely Amused.

In The Desert I Saw A Creature, Naked, Bestial, Who, Squatting Upon The Ground, Held His Heart In His Hands, And Ate Of It. I Said, ‘is It Good, Friend?’ ‘it Is Bitter — Bitter,’ He Answered, ‘but I Like It Because It Is Bitter, And Because It Is My Heart.

Tradition, Thou Art For Suckling Children, Thou Art The Enlivening Milk For Babes, But No Meat For Men Is In Thee.

Doubtless There Are Other Roads.

A Very Little Boy Stood Upon A Heap Of Gravel For The Honour Of Rum Alley. He Was Throwing Stones At Howling Urchins From Devil's Row, Who Were Circling Madly About The Heap And Pelting Him. His Infantile Countenance Was Livid With The Fury Of Battle. His Small Body Was Writhing In The Delivery Of Oaths.