Jove’s Plaint (1924) The good old days have vanished, And I suppose forever. My thunderbolt once quivered O’er mountain, plain and river. But now they have it captured, These humans so audacious. They dole it out through cables, To serve their plans rapacious. They sell it through a meter, Howe’er the gods may scoff it. They send a monthly statement, And make a profit off it. Alas, my bolt of thunder (And what worse could befall it?) Is hopelessly commercialized. “Juice” now I think they call it. The Land of Heart’s Desire (1924) There is a land of wonder With fields and towers agleam. I often see it yonder Beyond the Hills of Dream, Touched by the glow of morning, Lit by the sunset’s fire, Or with starbeams adorning-- The Land of Heart’s Desire. Along the road of duty We daily struggle on; But e’er we touch its beauty, Eluding us, ’tis gone. Yet through the clinging shadows, The brambles, and the mire, It lures us toward its meadows-- The Land of Heart’s Desire. Minds (1924) SOME minds are flaming rockets That flit among the stars; And some are gaily nickeled And painted motor cars; And some are lumbering wagons That slowly make their way, With nothing keen to offer And nothing fine to say. THE swiftly flaming rocket Loses its brilliancy. The fine car is supplanted By one more fair to see. But the slow-moving wagon That lumbers down the road Is certain of arrival And bears the heavy load. Miracle (1924) Whoever saw a garden grow, Or watched a robin build her nest, Or lingered in the flaming glow Of sunset blazing in the West; Whoever walked the fruitful plain, And saw the green stalks reach, and swell, And ripen to a field of grain Knows earth is full of miracle. Whoever wandered in the wood, And rambled down its aisle of dreams, Or sought the orchard path, or stood Where falls the murmur of a stream; Whoever watched a cloudland wild, Or sensed the twilight’s gentle spell, Or prattled with a little child Knows life is full of miracle. The Picture’s Lament (1924) They take great liberties with me, Nor ever ask me yea or nay. I’m just as weary as can be From prancing on a screen all day. I’ve dug, and climbed, and laughed, and wept, Loitered, and danced to make a show; And not a moment have I slept. They keep me always on the go. No choice is mine. I needs must move, Swiftly, obedient, silently. No fields of freedom do I rove. My course is parceled out for me. But this I cannot quite forget --If I can wake some old refrain Or still a rush of wild regret, I shall not then have toiled in vain. Prayer for Normal Men (1924)