starved, snarling, bloodshot eyes, fangs bared, straining at their chains—Friends, Beware!... Hunger—lean, bony, naked, and grimy—with talons and claws. Hunger with fever and mad. Hunger goaded. Hunger grinning. Hunger in consort with Death. Hunger—hideous, impalpable. Hunger that cannot die. Hunger, blood-smeared, ghastly, and sallow, with rotting teeth. Hunger that spits and leers. Hunger—devilish nightmare to all Tyrannies. Hunger, the fiendish torment of all Fashions and Respectabilities. Hunger without Reason—mad and demoniac. Hunger! Hunger! Hunger! Hunger! Friends, Beware! The moment seems due. Time will fulfill the destiny of a Fact. To follow the impulses of my heart is my supreme law; what I can accomplish by obeying my instincts, is what I ought to do. Is that voice of instinct cursed or blessed? I do not know; but I yield to it, and never force myself to run counter to my inclination. —_Richard Wagner._ Poems DAVID O’NEIL APATHY The bodies of soldiers Come floating down the river To the green sea, Rich in amber, Waiting to embalm them; All is splendid silence In this pageantry of wanton glory Awed By the setting sun. ONE WAY OUT In this terror of blood-spilling lust, Why throw it in a ditch, This boy’s beautiful body, When his spirit might rise like steam from the soup And stir the live ones to vengeance? Disease will deter you? Ah, but boil it well And the thought will give it a spice. Cannibalism, you say? Why stop when you have gone so far? He that died Would rather his body Gave life to his fellows, Than be trampled over, Shot over, Shoveled like offal away. Why throw it in a ditch? VICTORY I see captured shot-rent flags Dancing with the wind, Flying high to glory. Why not anchor them With a pyramid of bones, Those of our own men? It would tell Of the price that was paid To have these flags here, Whipping in the wind. OUR SON JACK Our son Jack, Wild with life, Went through When law and nature Said, “Go around.” Thus he died. THE OAK Gaunt, Stripped of leaves, Death-defiant, Yet triumphant In this thought: There is nothing more to lose. MOODS AND MOMENTS I. In dreams I have been swept through space On a star-hung swing, Like a silkworm Upheld by a slender strand, Tossed about in the gale. II.