The silence of the sky. And herds

Of plumèd winds like huntsmen come

To hunt with dreams the restless birds.

To-night the moon shall strike you dumb,

Oh words, oh words....

REDNECK’S SONG

These thirty years

Old men have filled my ears

With middle-aged ideas

That never have been young,

They made me wise.

I learnt to whitewash lies.

I learnt to shut my eyes,

And hold my tongue.

Damned Philistine.

And was it then so fine

To learn to draw the line.

(Is there a line to draw?)

And must I then

For threescore years and ten

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