Listen, friends and companions. Through the deep heart, Sweetly they toll. I hear the chimes Of tomorrow ring, The azure bells Of eternal love.... I see the chimes Of tomorrow swing: On unseen ropes They gleam above. Rejoice, friends and companions. Through the deep heart Sweetly they toll. They shake the sky They blaze and sing. They fill the air Like larks a-wing, Like storm-clouds Turned to blue-bell flowers. Like Spring gone mad, Like stars in showers. Join the song, Friends and companions. Through the deep heart Sweetly they toll. And some are near, And touch my hand, Small whispering blooms From Beulah Land. Giants afar Still touch the sky, Still give their giant Battle-cry. Join hands, friends and companions. Through the deep heart Sweetly they toll. And every bell Is voice and breath Of a spirit Who has conquered death, In this great war Has given all, Like Kilmer Heard the hero-call. Join hands, Poets, Friends, Companions. Through the deep heart Sweetly they toll! THE TIGER ON PARADE The Sparrow and the Robin on a toot Drunk on honey-dew and violet’s breath Came knocking at the brazen bars of Death. And Death, no other than a tiger caged, In a street parade that had no ending, Roared at them and clawed at them and raged-- Whose chirping was the height of their offending. His paws too big--their fluttering bodies small Escaped unscathed above the City Hall. They learned new dances, scattering birdy laughter, And filled again their throats with honey-dew. A Maltese kitten killed them, two days after. But they had had their fill. It was enough:-- Had quarreled, made up, on many a lilac swayed, Darted through sunny thunder-clouds and rainbows, High above that tiger on parade. THE FEVER CALLED WAR Love and Kindness, Two sad shadows Over the old nations, Bigger than the world, Mists above a grave! Says Love, the shadow To Kindness the shadow:-- “I weep for the children No miracle will save. All the little children Are down with the fever, Thousands upon thousands, Blind and deaf and mad. Their fathers are all dead, And the same raging fever Is burning up the children, The babes that once were glad.” STANZAS IN JUST THE RIGHT TONE FOR THE SPIRITED GENTLEMEN WHO WOULD CONQUER MEXICO ALEXANDER Would I might waken in you Alexander, Murdering the nations wickedly, Flooding his time with blood remorselessly, Sowing new Empires, where the Athenian light, Knowledge and music, slay the Asian night, And men behold Apollo in the sun. God make us splendid, though by grievous wrong. God make us fierce and strong. MOHAMMED