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.