gesture, the hat held at arm's length, sweeping a broad curve, like a censor well swung; and, beyond the last grey gabled house in the village, the gaunt Christ that stretches bony arms and tortured hands to embrace the broad lands leprous with cold the furrowed fields and the meadows and the sprouting oats ghostly beneath the grey bitter blanket of hoarfrost.

 Sausheim

X

 In a hall on Olympus we held carouse, Sat dining through the warm spring night, Spilling of the crocus-colored wine       Glass after brimming glass to rouse The ghosts that dwell in books to flight Of word and image that, divine, In the draining of a glass would tear The lies from off reality, And the world in gaudy chaos spread Naked-new in the throbbing flare Of songs of long-fled spirits;—free For the wanderer devious roads to tread.

 Names waved as banners in our talk:       Lucretius, his master, all men who to balk The fear that shrivels us in choking rinds Have thrown their souls like pollen to the winds, Erasmus, Bruno who burned in Rome, Voltaire, All those whose lightning laughter cleaned the air Of the minds of men from the murk of fear-sprung gods, And straightened the backs bowed under the rulers' rods.

A hall full of the wine and chant of old songs, Smelling of lilacs and early roses and night, Clamorous with the names and phrases of the throngs Of the garlanded dead, and with glasses pledged to the light Of the dawning to come ...

 O in the morning we would go Out into the drudging world and sing And shout down dustblinded streets, hollo From hill to hill, and our thought fling Abroad through all the drowsy earth To wake the sleeper and the worker and the jailed In walls cemented of lies to mirth And dancing joy; laughingly unveiled From the sick mist of fear to run naked and leap And shake the nations from their snoring sleep.

 O in the morning we would go Fantastically arrayed In silk and scarlet braid, In rich glitter like the sun on snow With banners of orange, vermillion, black, And jasper-handed swords, Anklets and tinkling gauds Of topaz set twistingly, or lac Laid over with charms of demons' heads In indigo and gold. Our going a music bold       

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