They ran from the ridge, Looked under the bridge. There! he escapes, said Alice, the fay. Where? Howled the mob! which is the way? There's Imogene wrapped as if in a trance, Said the preacher, there where the waters dance. I saw as it were a shaft of light Steal from her side, vanish from sight. The cobbler said: it was like a comet; The druggist, water by a bomb hit. Yes, said the lawyer, I heard a splashing And saw a light as of waters flashing Or a thousand arrows of splendor flying I heard a booming, banging, clanging Of a bull's hide string, it was terrifying. No, said Alice, this form of light, That stole away and vanished from sight, That was the fellow, said Alice, the sprite. Go after him, follow through meadow and hollow The God Apollo, the great Apollo! X They went to Imogene then and took her, Spoke to her, slapped her hands and shook her, Asked her who it was that forsook her, Why she had left her home and wandered, What was the dream she sat and pondered, And Imogene said, it's a dream of dread, Now that the glory of it is fled. Where am I now, where is my lover? God of my dreams, singer and rover. I danced with the muses in flowering meadows; We lay on lawns of whispering shadows; We walked by moonlight where pine trees stood Feathery clear in the crystal flood; He gave me honey and grapes for food. We rode on the clouds and counted the stars. He sang me songs of the ancient wars. He told me of cities and temples builded Under his hand, we waded rivers By star-light and by sun-light gilded; By shades where the green of the laurel shivers. But it came to this, and this I see: Life is beautiful if you are free, If you live yourself like the laurel tree. XI Then some of them teased her, the posse seized her, They tore the lilies out of her hair. Back to the village, exclaimed the preacher, Back to your home, exclaimed the teacher. You've been befooled, said Alice, the fay, And back went Imogene in despair, Weeping all the way! THE BARBER OF SEPO Trimmed but not cut too short; the temples shaved, Neck clipped around, not shaved, an oil shampoo, You have a world of time before the train And when it comes it stops ten minutes--then The depot's just a block away. Oh yes, This is my own, my native town. But when I earn the money to get out, I go. I've had my share of bad luck--seems to me Without my fault, as least life's actinism Makes what we call our luck or lack of luck....