You make me dream of distant tropic climes, Luxurious vegetation; nights serene By burning passion made tempestuous, The witching scent of rare exotic flowers That sooth and render sweetly languorous, Of music soft and weird, whose savage rhythm Compels each fibre of the frame to dance. I see you as the princess of an isle Whose jungles are replete with beasts of prey, And whose vast forests ever are alive With cries and frolickings of birds and apes; Whose villages of bamboo huts are full Of dusky-hued and happy naked people. Your simple hearted subjects pay you homage; Prostrated in the dust, they weirdly chant Thy praises, even as in my own way, I sing your praises, sweet, exotic princess. Oh, let me enter your enchanted realm, And make of me your happy, humble slave. WALT WHITMAN Mountain-like he towers, a Matterhorn Midst many minor peaks; And like a mountain, mighty, vast and wild; A finger pointing into boundless space, A head raised high above the shifting clouds, A heart that beats in unison with all, An eye that first beholds the rising sun And is the last to see her parting glory, A clarion-call to freedom, A gesture of revolt, A world-encircling brotherhood embrace, An exaltation of the lowly, A vindication of the truth, A glorification of the human body, A declaration of the right of all To live, to love, to dare and to do, A hymn to life, a rhapsody of joy! LIFE-LUST My mouth--the mouth of my whole being waters For all the fruit upon the lap of Life; The luscious fruit of Life, (delicious fruit, All running over with the juice of joy.) Life seems a banquet and my gourmand senses Would gorge themselves with all good things thereof. My taste, my touch, my smell, my sight, my hearing Would drink the seasoned vintages of Life, And relish all Life's rarest fruits and viands. Content to go whene'er the feast is over Content, the feast was not prepared in vain. ON A TALK OF SPINOZA Durant spoke of Spinoza yesterday And I sat list'ning, feeling, meditating. And now and ever afterwards will feel And live and think more deeply than before, For having heard Durant speak of Spinoza. Spinoza! what a mighty, mighty name! All Alexanders, Caesars and Napoleons-- Mere specks of dust upon a polished lense, Compared to that poor polisher of lenses. He polished lenses for myopic eyes, The world's myopic eyes hath need of them-- And long will need them,--poor myopic world. My own sight seems improved since I have heard Durant speak of Spinoza yesterday. THE REVOLT OF THE RAGGED We who have but rags to wear, Let us go out on strike And face the robber-master class In all our naked might.