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The child—
Warm chubby thighs, fat brown arms,
An unsurprised face—
Cries for jam.
The mother buys him with jam…
An old woman
Tottering on lean leather-skinned legs
Sucks with glazing eyes
The crystal silken milk
That flows from the death would
In an young flower-soft, jewel-soft body.
This poem is in the public domain, and originally appeared in Others for 1919; An Anthology of the New Verse (Nicholas L. Brown, 1920).
Along the shore
A black net of branches
Tangles the pulpy yellow lamps.
The shell-colored sky is lustrous with the fading sun.
Across the river Manhattan floats—
Dim gardens of fire—
And rushing invisible toward me through the fog,
A hurricane of faces.
The afternoon is frozen with memories,
Radiant as ice.
The sun sets amidst the agued trembling of the leaves;
Sinking right down through the gold air
Into the arms of the sea.
And the enameled wings of the palm trees
Keep shivering, shivering
Beating the old air thin…
Dim gold faces float in the windows,
Subtle as perfume,
Soft as flowers.
Dim gold faces and gilded arms
Are clinging along the silver ladders of rain,
Climbing with ivory lamps held high;
Starry lamps
Over which the silver ladders
Thicken into nets of twilight.