The Rider Arab riders, dark and remote, Swathed in white, Riding their mares through the glimmering desert In the quiet of night, Gazing at the sky from the solitude of their saddles Named...
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December 12, 1928 THE COMMONWEAL 163 POEMS o.t the Scarlet Rain Not the scarlet rain of leaves, Nor the sudden drops of spring, Nor the sharp, impatient sleet, Not the fall of anything Is so...
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The Harpies The verdure is gone, the fragrance is fled, The crops are gathered, the stalks are dead, There is only the beauty of ruin in their stead. Earth now is fleshed as rigid as stone, The...
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To Motor Cars Will the day come when it means Nothing to me?—these machines Smooth and ominous as guns, Running as the antelope runs, Strong as elephants, by a touch Spurred or curbed, and...
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J^(^'tt; Autumn Is Here Now Autumn is here I yearn for a Roman villa (A villa and peace!) With mosaics of grapevines twined with the leopards of Bacchus, And a bronze faun from Greece Standing...
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