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 CONQUEST

[Dedicated to F. W.]

Hard, chilly colors: straw grey, frost grey the grey of frozen ground: and you, O sun, close above the horizon! It is I holds you— half against the sky half against a black tree trunk icily resplendent!

Lie there, blue city, mine at last— rimming the banked blue grey and rise, indescribable smoky yellow into the overpowering white!

PORTRAIT OF A YOUNG MAN WITH A BAD HEART Have I seen her? Only through the window across the street.

If I go meeting her on the corner some damned fool will go blabbing it