THE CUBAN IN THE STATES The North is beautiful, and 1 Would like it but for me And how can one who long has known I shiver at the closing white- I lie in an eternal night Of sighing mouth on mouth. MADN ESS The night came softly to the sea; The sea, the seven stars, and I It echoed in the hills, and went And I alone the reason knew, But stars are strange, the sea is deep, DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES They say that dead men tell no tales! Except of barges with red sails Except of jongleurs stretched at ease Except of dying moons that break Except of fortresses in shade, And heroes crumbled and betrayed. But dead men tell no tales, they say! Except old tales that burn away Old tales of life, of love and hate, A BOOK ON ECONOMICS Between long rows of figures lurk And how poor women fade away ( And in a note once in a while I see death freeze a baby's smile. THE CAUSE OF THIS I KNOW NOT The cause of this I know not, I search in vain for the reason- Only that youth is lovely, Only that youth must go; And hearts are made to be broken, SONG Poppies paramour the girls, Lilies put the boys to bed Death not other is than this They are safe, and shall not fade, After everything is done, Past the solace of the shade Or the rescue of the sun. STAR-DUST Where past Time the roads go far There lads of the impassioned races Reflect the night skies in their faces; THE TERROR From Asiago to Cambrai, From Vilna to the Aisne, Each night the ghosts of soldiers say, "Don't let us die in vain." That they should come so far is strange, Since death lays men so still, But who can say where dead men range, Or how they have their will? So through the night their tramp I hear, Briton and Frank and Russ; And through the night the thing they fear They whisper deep in us. How shall we find a way to heal The terror of the slain, To seek them out, and make them feel SEEGER The shapes of waking moments wearied him; Dreams must be saved! So he, the dream-adept, The thundering guns were viols for his suit, And iron shards his couch. The day was laden With scent of deadly blossoms, and he died. And now, wrapt with his maiden, he is mute. Haniel Long |