Page:Chicago Poems.djvu/196

 your faces I saw the many years I drank your milk and filled my mouth With your home talk, slept in your house And was one of you.
 * But a fire bums in my heart.

Under the ribs where pulses thud And flitting between bones of skull Is the push, the endless mysterious command,
 * Saying:

“I leave you behind— You for the little hills and the years all alike, You with your patient cows and old houses Protected from the rain, I am going away and I never come back to you; Crags and high rough places call me, Great places of death Where men go empty handed And pass over smiling To the star-drift on the horizon rim. My last whisper shall be alone, unknown; I shall go to the city and fight against it, And make it give me passwords Of luck and love, women worth dying for, And money.