Coda
O my songs,
Why do you look so eagerly and so curiously into people's faces,
Will you find your lost dead among them?
This poem is in the public domain.
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In a Station of the Metro
The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.
1926
A Pact
I make truce with you, Walt Whitman—
I have detested you long enough.
I come to you as a grown child
Who has had a pig-headed father;
I am old enough now to make friends.
It was you that broke the new wood,
Now is a time for carving.
We have one sap and one root—
Let there be commerce between us.
1913
The Return
See, they return; ah, see the tentative
Movements, and the slow feet,
The trouble in the pace and the uncertain
Wavering!
1913