The light has gone from the West; the wind has gone From the quiet trees in the Park; From the houses the open windows yellowly shine, The streets are softly dark; 

 Row upon row the twisted chimneys stand, Each angle sharply lined, And the mass of the Institute rises, tower and dome, Black on the sky behind; 

 Green is the sky, like some strange precious stone, Dark, it yet holds the light In its depths, like a bright thing shrouded over or veiled By the creeping shadow of night; 

 And whiter than any whiteness there is upon earth A faint star throbs and beats— And the hurrying voices cry the news of the war, Below, in the quiet street. 

 

 

 COUNTED OUT—OLYMPIA 

 The small white space roped off; the hard blue light Burning intensely on the narrow ring, And every muscle's movement sculpturing Harshly, of those two naked men who fight; Beyond, the yellow lights that seem to swing Across abysmal darkness; and below, Tier upon tier, all silent, row on row The dense black-coated throng, and all a-strain White faces, turned towards the narrow stage, Watching intently; watching, nerves and brain, As those two men, cut off in that blue glare From all reality of place and age Wherein our common being has a share, Together isolated, watch and creep —Sunk head, hunched shoulders, light of foot and swift, Deadly of purpose—in that ancient game, Which was not otherwise in forests deep Of earth primeval: that light tread the same, The same those watchful eyes, and those quick springs Of a snake uncoiling; underneath the skin, Glistening with sweat in that unearthly blaze, The muscles run and check, like living things. And then, the hot air tremulous with the din, And all the great crowd surging to its feet, Yet like a wave arrested, while the hands Of the referee allot the moments' beat; The seconds, strung like greyhounds on a leash Await the signal; and there's one who stands Still guarding, watchful, tense, while all around Lamp-light and darkness seem to rock and spin In one wild clamour; and upon the ground, Beneath the stark blue light, the beaten man! 

 

 

   THE GERMAN BAND 

 When I was a little child And lived very near the sky, A German band was wonderful music That could almost make me cry. 

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