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 Up from before the death living around me— Torn up continually and carried Whatever way the head of your whim is, A burr upon those streaming tatters—” But the night had fallen, she stilled me And led me away.

PATERSON—THE STRIKE At the first peep of dawn she roused me! I rose trembling at the change which the night saw! For there, wretchedly brooding in a corner From which he old eyes glittered fiercely— “Go!” she said, and I hurried shivering Out into the deserted streets of Paterson.

That night she came again, hovering In rags within the filmy ceiling— “Great Queen, bless me with thy tatters!” “You are blest, go on!” “Hot for savagery, Sucking the air! I went into the city, Out again, baffled onto the mountain! Back into the city! Nowhere The subtle! Everywhere the electric!”

“A short bread-line before a hitherto empty tea shop: