Page:The Pot of Earth.pdf/57

 Have you seen the shallow grain? Do you know,—do you not know him? Laugh, she said, I am delivered, I am free, I am no longer Burdened. I have borne the summer Dead, the corn dead, the living Dead. I am delivered. He has left me now. I lie here Empty, gleaned, a reaped meadow, Fearing the rain no more, not fearing Spring nor the flood tides overflowing Earth with their generative waters— Let me sleep, let me be quiet. I can see the dark sail going On and on, the river flowing Red with the melting of the snow: What is this thing we know?—

Under the iron street the crying