Page:American Poetry 1922.djvu/199



Should I not hear, as I lie down in dust, The horns of glory blowing above my burial?

Morning and evening opened and closed above me: Houses were built above me; trees let fall Yellowing leaves upon me, hands of ghosts; Rain has showered its arrows of silver upon me Seeking my heart; winds have roared and tossed me; Music in long blue waves of sound has borne me A helpless weed to shores of unthought silence; Time, above me, within me, crashed its gongs Of terrible warning, sifting the dust of death; And here I lie. Blow now your horns of glory Harshly over my flesh, you trees, you waters! You stars and suns, Canopus, Deneb, Rigel, Let me, as I lie down, here in this dust, Hear, far off, your whispered salutation! Roar now above my decaying flesh, you winds, Whirl out your earth-scents over this body, tell me Of ferns and stagnant pools, wild roses, hillsides! Anoint me, rain, let crash your silver arrows On this hard flesh! I am the one who named you, I lived in you, and now I die in you. I your son, your daughter, treader of music, Lie broken, conquered. . . . Let me not fall in silence. 185