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Southern Mansion
Poplars are standing there still
as death
and ghosts of dead men
meet their ladies walking
two by two beneath the shade
and standing on the marble steps.
There is a sound of music echoing
through the open door
and in the field there is
another sound tinkling in the
cotton:
chains of bondsmen dragging on the
ground
The years go back with an iron
clank,
a hand is on the gate,
a dry leaf trembles on the wall.
Ghosts are walking.
They have broken roses down
and poplars stand there still as death. * * * * *
The Day-Breakers
We are not come towage a strife
With swords
upon this hill.
It is not wise to waste
the life
Against a
stubborn will.
Yet would we die as some
have done,
Beating a way for the rising sun * * * * *
Golgotha Is a Mountain
Golgotha is a
mountain, a purple mound
Almost out of sight.
One night they hanged
two thieves there,
And another man.
Some women wept
heavily that night;
Their tears are
flowing still. They have made a river;
Once it covered me.
Then the people went
away and left Golgotha
Deserted.
Oh, I've seen many
mountains:
Pale purple mounting
melting in the evening mists and
blurring on
the borders of the sky.
I climbed old Shasta
and chilled my hands in its summer
snows.
I rested in the shadow
of Popocatepetl and it whispered to me
of death.
And I've seen other
mountains rising from the wistful moors
like the
breasts of a slender maiden.
Who knows the mystery
of mountains!
Some of them are awful, others are just lonely |