So that his best songs go unsung,
So that his dreams are sent to school
And all die young.

There pass the trav'lling dreams, and these
My soul adores--my words condemn--
Oh, I would fall upon my knees
To kiss their golden garments' hem,
Yet words do lie in wait to seize
And murder them.

To-night the swinging stars shall plumb
The silence of the sky. And herds
Of plumèd winds like huntsmen come
To hunt with dreams the restless birds.
To-night the moon shall strike you dumb,
Oh words, oh words....




REDNECK'S SONG


These thirty years
Old men have filled my ears
With middle-aged ideas
That never have been young,
They made me wise.
I learnt to whitewash lies.