IRONIC: LL.D.

There are no hollows any more
Between the mountains; the prairie floor
Is like a curtain with the drape
Of the winds' invisible shape;
And nowhere seen and nowhere heard
The sea's quiet as a sleeping bird.

Now we're traveling, what holds back
Arrival, in the very track
Where the urge put forth; so we stay
And move a thousand miles a day.
Time's a Fancy ringing bells
Whose meaning, charlatan history, tells!


SCINTILLA

I kissed a kiss in youth
Upon a dead man's brow;
And that was long ago,--
And I'm a grown man now.

It's lain there in the dust,
Thirty years and more;--
My lips that set a light
At a dead man's door.