The victor of all armies and of age.


LXIV

See that procession passing down the street,
The black and white procession of the days--
Far better dance along and bawl your praise
Than if you follow with unwilling feet.


LXV

But in the noisy ranks you will forget
What is the flag. Oh, comrade, fall aside
And think a little moment of the pride
Of yonder sun, think of the twilight's net.


LXVI

The songs we fashion from our new delight
Are echoes. When the first of men sang out,
He shuddered, hearing not alone the shout
Of hills but of the peoples in the night.


LXVII

And all the marvels that our eyes behold