The day is graying through the black forest, as if it blossomed from the mist. Soon the sun will rise and mutely count the dead sons .
A yellow balloon swings dully in the light breeze — — The airship seems to be the eye of the Lord who sits on the bone-heap throne of Death .
Out of a thousand mouths — lead and flame blaze forth like an evil curse, and uproot all hope for release from human hearts and forest-tree trunks .
And suddenly midst smoke and blast the balloon flashes and flames forth, as flashes in anger the eye of the Lord, as flames the blood in the yellow sand .

The lad ponders: his God is far away in Infinity. To manhood grows the lad—he now seeks God on earth. And now the man: he sees God's hand in the destiny of his country. The father discovers Him anew in a child's smile. And in the quiet, little house he first realizes how far God's glory has expanded throughout Infinity .

There festers yet your burned body; shadows still drag themselves to pare and flay you! And still there lurks for you a wolfish hounding of autumn — rank, moulted winds — —
Already snow-lambkins go in search of white wool for you and somewhere a regal frost sucks the slumbering Dniepr and the rough Volga and sips a white salve from all your rivers .
And at every post of yours — a hope bends to me, like a small settlement on the way — on your twilit plains .

Like women much beloved and yet unsated, passing through life with laughter and anger in their eyes of fire and agate — thus the years have been .
And they have also been like actors who half-heartedly play " Hamlet " in the marketplace; like grandseigneurs in a proud land, who grab the uproar by the neck .
And now, how crestfallen they are, my God, and hushed like a shattered clavecin, and welcome every blow and scoff, and seek Thee without believing in Thee .

I saw the well-filled barns
Of the child of wealth;
Now leans he on the staff of the beggar.
Thus are riches,
As the glance of an eye,
They are an inconstant friend.

Who, or by open force, or secret stealth,
Or perjured wiles, amasses wealth,
(Such many are, whom thirst of gain betrays)
The gods, all seeing, shall o'ercloud his days;
His wife, his children, and his friends shall die,
And, like a dream, his ill-got riches fly.

In your endless spaces there cries an infinite longing. O land of tatters and dreams, how severe your punishment!
Your disaster lies mutely frozen in sunrays and dazzling snow. O land of wolves and nightingales, how silent you are!
You interr yourself with millions of thatched roofs, snow-blanketed and frost-enchained. O land of martyrs and criminals, are you alive or not?

Here's a health to John T. Williams,
God bless him as he goes.
An honor to his country,
And a terror to his foes!

Lettie Drake she's mighty sweet:
The Yankees are bowin' at her feet.

Thy red whirllight, thy white blossoms, life mine, have left me prostrated in wounds at the blue doors of my unrest.

Like a snake, cut to pieces on rails, I palpitate towards the early rays of the sun, and dream wild dreams of thy red whirl-light, thy white blossoms, life mine .