Bars and Shadows | Page 6

windows guard their ancient wrong;
But the

mad wind shakes them, hissing through his teeth
A battle song.
O bitter is the challenge that he flings
At bars and bolts and keys.

Torn with the cries of vanished centuries
And curses hurled at
long-forgotten kings
Beyond dim seas.
The wind alone, of all the gods of old,
Men could not chain.
O wild
wind, brother to my wrath and pain,
Like you, within a restless heart I
hold
A hurricane.
The wind has known the dungeons of the past
Knows all that are;

And in due time will strew their dust afar,
And singing, he will shout
their doom at last
To a laughing star.
O cleansing warrior wind, stronger than death,
Wiser than men may
know;
O smite these stubborn walls and lay them low,
Uproot and
rend them with your mighty breath--
Blow, wild wind, blow!
TO FREEDOM
Out on the "lookout" in the wind and sleet,
Out in the woods of fir
and spruce and pine,
Down in the hot slopes of the dripping mine

We dreamed of you and Oh, the dream was sweet!
And now you
bless the felon food we eat
And make each iron cell a sacred shrine;

For when your love thrills in the blood like wine,
The very stones
grow holy to our feet.
We shall be faithful though we march with Death
And singing storm
the barricades of Wrong,
For life is such a little thing to give.
We
shall fight on as long as we have breath--
Love in our hearts and on
our lips a song--
Without you it were better not to live!
THE VISION MAKER
To EUGENE VICTOR DEBS

Christ-like he spoke. While angry cannon roared,
His vision tinged
the torn and bleeding skies,
Men heard in him their own dumb
anguished cries,
The heavens seemed to open at his word.
Give us a
victim, shouted Caesar's horde,
From his black pyre red warnings
shall arise,
The vision perishes, the prophet dies. . .
His truth is far
more deadly than our sword!
And deadlier his dream--a quenchless flame,
For which no dungeon
fastness can be built . . .
You have but made the convict half divine,

Crowned Truth with martyrdom, yourselves with shame;
Not he,
but you are branded deep with guilt;
His cell is holier than your
highest shrine.
DISTANCES
Above the moist earth, tremulous and bright,
The stars creep
forth--stars that I cannot see;
And to my cell steals, oh, so tenderly

The dewy fragrance of a summer night!
All wan and wistful,
somewhere out of sight,
Stalking o'er landscapes wide and dark and
free,
My friend, the moon, looks everywhere for me,
Splashing the
paths I loved with silver light.
Oh loveliness! why do you torture so
With such keen beauty till the
day appears?
Why touch to life things buried long ago,
Whose
aching cries trouble the heart to tears;
Ghostly--like wind tossed sea
gulls calling low
Out of the poignant vistas of the years?
PHANTOMS
Ghost of a mountain
And ghost of a moon;
Night birds sink
droopingly
Over the dune
Clouds drifting hazily
Stars blurring through;
Darkness come close
to me--
Darkness and you.

Mist on the water
And mist in the sky;
Netted with silver
The
waves ripple by.
Ghost of a solitude
Lit with dead stars.
You have your memories
I
have my bars!
SEVEN LITTLE SPARROWS
Beyond the deep-cut window
The bars are heaped with snow,
And
seven little sparrows
Are sitting in a row.
Fluffy blur of snowflakes;
Dappled haze of light;
The narrow prison
vista
Is all awhirl with white.
Seven little sparrows
Ruffled brown and grey
Snuggled close
against the bars--
And this is Christmas day!
SALAAM!
Serene, complacent, satisfied,
Content with things that be;
The
paragon of paltriness
Upraised for all to see;
With loving pride he
cherishes
His mediocrity!
The smirking, ass-like multitudes
Cringe down at his command.

With wagging ears and blinded eyes
They do not understand.
With
pride they show each shackled wrist
And on each brow the brand.
The young, the old, the great, the small
Give homage--all supine.

Fond parents bring their children there
As to some holy shrine.
And
every one the Beast transforms
From human into swine!
Well praised are they--rewarded well--
Who on their shoulders bore

The gilded Thing that all the mob
Fawned in the dust before.

And each that did obeisance there
Was naked like a whore.
The poet with his teeming song,
The wise his deep-delved lore,
The

maiden with her tender flesh,
The strong his sturdy store:
Each
yielded all he had to give;
No harlot could do more.
Is there not one to share with me
The shame and wrath I own?
Is
there not one to curse that Thing
Or pick up stones to stone--
To
rend and wreck and raze to earth--
Or do I stand alone?
Raise high the swine-like incubus,
Obediently bow!
Shatter the
flame on rebel lips
And wreath that brazen brow!
So blaze the
banners, ring the bells,
Apotheosis now!
My kind but scorn your dull "success"--
Your subtle ways to "win,"

We eat our hearts in solitude
Or sear our souls with "sin";
Yet we
are better men than you
Who fit so smugly in.
Go! grovel for the shoddy goods
And plod and plot and plan,
And if
you win the paltry prize
Go prize it--if you can,
But I would hurl it
in your face
To hold myself a man!
I will not