Even In Hell, If A Man Was

Money Is Sullen And Wisdom Is Sly, But Youth Is The Pollen That Blows Through The Sky And Does Not Ask Why.

Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee.

There's Nothing Compared To The History Of Writing About The City Of New York That You Get, Say, In Charles Reznikoff.

Go Play With The Towns You Have Built Of Blocks, The Towns Where You Would Have Bound Me! I Sleep In My Earth Like A Tired Fox, And My Bufdfalo Have Found Me.

God Pity Us Indeed, For We Are Human, And Do Not Always See, The Vision When It Comes, The Shining Change, Or, If We See It, Do Not Follow It, Because It Is Too Hard, Too Strange, Too New, Too Unbelievable, Too Difficult, Warring Too Much With Common, Easy Ways, And Now I Know This, Standing In This Light, Who Have Been Half Alive These Many Years, Brooding On My Own Sorrow, My Own Pain, Saying "i Am A Barren Bough. Expect, Nor Fruit Nor Blossom From A Barren Bough."