Somewhere the dawn breaks laughing o'er the sea To splash with gold the cities' domes and towers, And countless men seek visions wide and free, In that alluring world that is not ours; But no one there could prize as much as we The open road, the smell of grass and flowers. PRISON NOCTURNE Outside the storm is swishing to and fro; The wet wind hums its colorless refrain; Against the walls and dripping bars, the rain Beats with a rhythm like a song of woe; Dimmed by the lightning's ever-fitful glow The purple arc-lamps blur each streaming pane; The thunder rumbles at the distant plain, The cells are hushed and silent, row on row. Fall, fruitful drops, upon the parching earth, Fall, and revive the living sap of spring; Blossom the fields with wonder once again! And, in all hearts, awaken to new birth Those visions and endeavors that will bring A fresh, sweet morning to the world of men! THE WARRIOR WIND Once more the wind leaps from the sullen land With his old battle-cry. A tree bends darkly where the wall looms high; Its tortured branches, like a grisly hand, Clutch at the sky. Grey towers rise from gloom and underneath-- Black-barred and strong-- The snarling 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